“Grateful for Regrets?”
By Rev. Dr. Jeffrey A. Schooley
In the sixth grade two important things happened in my life – one I would instantly love, one that was immediately terrifying. I’m so grateful for both of them today.
I was always a smart (read:nerdy) kid throughout grade school, but it wasn’t until the sixth grade that I was placed in a “talented and gifted” (TAG, for short) course of study for math and English. For the first time, I received instruction at a level that really did challenge me and I found a community of other smart (read: nerdy) peers who also challenged me. I loved it! I felt safe, challenged, and inspired. It was only for those two topics, though, and we were re-integrated with the rest of our classmates for the majority of the day.
Also, at this exact same time, my sixth-grade teacher sat JS* next to me. JS was a bully. JS has forearm hair at 12-years-old. JS had calloused knuckles. JS scared me. And now, immediately to my right, sat JS. I couldn’t believe it. What if he wanted to cheat off of me? I was (and am) a rule follower, but there was also no way I was going to be a snitch. What if he just wanted to talk when the teacher was talking? Was I supposed to shush him? I was convinced that if I shushed him once he’d make sure I’d lose the front teeth necessary to make that sound! He was still putting his books into his new desk next to mine and I was already in a cold sweat of anxiety.
With the benefit of hindsight, I now understand that this was a strategic choice. My sixth-grade teacher was hoping I might rub off on JS a little. (And, for all I know, maybe she was hoping I’d gain a backbone when it came to bullies?). And so it happened. We were all of five minutes into our first worksheet assignment when JS whispered, “Hey, can you help me?” I quickly scanned the room to see if the teacher was glaring at me or to see if the police were going to bang through the door for breaking the “no speaking without permission” rule. But all was calm, so I looked to JS and I saw, for the briefest moment, a little vulnerability – a little humanity – in his eyes. He really didn’t know what to do. I knew I couldn’t let him cheat – I’d be just as guilty as him if I did – so I quietly tried to point to a clue in the reading to help him find the right answer to the question. He paused, read the paragraph I had pointed to a couple times (or maybe one time slowly), and then lit up when he found the answer. Emboldened, he seemed to settle into the assignment enough to not need my help.
Well, this is how the school year played out. But also over that time, JS slowly became more social with me outside of the classroom. I found I was no longer part of his “loser lottery” for who would get bullied at recess. I slowly even began to like the guy… as much as one can like a hornet the size of a pit bull.
I ask you to indulge my little trip down memory lane because it recently occurred to me that A LOT of life is like my sixth-grade year. Both personally and professionally, I find that 20-percent of my time – like the 20-percent of my school day that I got to spend with my “TAG” peers – is fun, exhilarating, life-giving, challenging-in-the-best-way, and joyful. The other 80-percent? Taken up by folks or situations that I might feel are beneath me, or causes me anxiety, or bullies me a little, or just generally drains energy out of me rather than helping restore it.
This is why the living parable that is JS, though, is so important because JS was definitely part of that 80-percent when I was 12-years-old, but I now regard that time as meaningful and important. It was with JS that I learned that all the knowledge I loved to collect because it excited my imagination and fueled my curiosity was not mine to hold forever. JS taught me – or, maybe, my wise sixth grade teacher used JS to teach me – that I am my brother’s keeper, so to speak, and that my gifts were not and are not meant for me alone. And, more so, that those gifts are best used not in service to other gifted people but for those who need a hand up.
I realize this story and its interpretation risk painting me in a heroic light. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t because it took years – roughly 31 of them – for me to realize that my place of resentment in the sixth grade is now my place of gratitude. And 31 years is a really long time to figure that out; definitely not a “talented-and-gifted” timeline.
Mostly, though, I hope that this story helps you reflect on places of resentment that have been transformed – by time, by perspective, by reflection, by grace – into places of gratitude. And then, we all get to ask the hard question: What place of resentment today might become a place of gratitude in the future? Oof! Because it would be just like our good God to do that to us, right? A God of grace would transform negative things like resentment into positive things like gratitude. A God of love would make us see the vulnerability and humanity in our bullies. An eternal God would have the patience to plant a seed that germinates for 31 years.
I’m quite sure I’m going to keep grumbling about the 80-percent of things that take my energy. I’m sure I will still stumble into resentment on the regular. I’m sure I’ll still do my best to duck the bullies of life. But what I can’t do is trust that today’s resentment will also be tomorrow’s resentment. Now I have to stay open to the possibility that today’s annoying thing is tomorrow’s place of surprise, of blessing, of growth.
So, tend carefully with your present resentments – don’t kick them around or gripe about them too much – because you never know when one of them will reveal itself as tomorrow’s gratitude.
*Only initials because JS doesn’t know he’s about to be a star in a church newsletter article
