With the exception of my eldest grandmunchkin’s Bas Mitzvah in mid-February, I’ve been feeling off-balance for the last two months.   My brother-in-law, Stan, died immediately after that last Random Thought on gratitude.  He was one of the good guys; as my son, Robby, said, “There should be more like him in the world.”  Everyone thought he was over the proverbial hump when we gathered for Thanksgiving in Nashville to be feted by Robby, the chef.  Little did any of us know it would be the last time I would see him.  He returned to the hospital days later.  He never came out.  He was my oldest and dearest friend. Before he met and married my sister, we were room mates at UNC in the early ’60s.   I had said on Facebook at the time of his death,  “I will not mourn his loss. Instead, I will celebrate the gain I have from having had him in my life these past 51 years.”  And, I have lived up to those words.  Nevertheless, since his death, and though he had been serious sick, having undergone several major surgeries, for the past three years, I’ve felt a subtle void.  All that changed about ten days ago when, thanks to Venus (not her real name), I felt a rejuvenating “its time.”

I am putting together a selected collection of my Random Thoughts for E-publication that were part of a series that I sprinkled over years called “Words In My Dictionary of Good Teaching.”   But, I wasn’t satisfied with the working book title by that name:  “A Dictionary of Good Teaching.”  It didn’t have a zing, a “hook.”  It really didn’t capture the essence of all those particular reflections.  Then, about ten days ago, I found the title I wanted:  “Faith, Hope, Love.”  I might give it a subtitle of “The ‘Little, Big Words’ of Teaching.”  Let me tell you how I inadvertently and unexpectedly found it.

I was late to walking the streets.  I approached a young lady and offered her a “good morning.”  She stopped in front of me, blocking my way, and exclaimed,  “Dr Schmier!”  I must have had with a curious “who are you” look in my face.  “I was in class with you the last semester before your retirement (Fall semester, 2012).  I’m Venus.”  She told me a tale of being “not sure I belonged in college,” our encouraging conversations, of being “big time sick,” of dropping out of school the following semester, of “settling” (her word) for a “good paying” job as a waitress.  Then, she hit me square between the eyes and said something like, “But deep down I wasn’t happy.  One day after my shift I dug out my date book for that semester with you.  I began reading all those ‘Words for the Day’ you wrote on the board and we talked about.  I copied every one of them.  I read one entry that said these words weren’t just words but ways to look at ourselves and ways to live.  Then, I read two that said, ‘Your greatest enemy is your own fear,’ and  ‘faith means not worrying.’  I heard them speaking to me.  They suddenly opened my eyes to myself.  ‘Settling’ meant running away, being stopped by my fear and worrying I couldn’t do what I wanted and not having the faith to give myself a chance.  From that time one to today, every time I wanted to stop, every time I wanted to settle for something, every time I worried what others would say or that I couldn’t do something, I heard you say from one of our conversations, ‘you’re better than this and you can be better, if you’re willing to do whatever it takes to become better.’  You were living faith, hope, and love to me.  So, because of you I slowly stopped settling for things I didn’t want.  I soon stopped being afraid.  I stopped worrying about whether I could do what I wanted to do or not.  And, I decided, as you once told me, to put all of me on the field.   I took off my apron, went back to college, first at near-by ABAC, and now here.  I’m surprising myself that I am doing whatever it takes to become what I really want to become, and it’s working!”

“And what is it you want to become?” I calmly asked.

She hit me square between the eyes for a second time.  “To be the good clinical psychologist I can be.  I want to help people have faith in themselves,  have hope for themselves, and love themselves.  I want to learn to listen to people so I can help them learn to hear the truth about themselves and their abilities.   Just like you so did for me,” she answered.  After a few seconds, she added “And, I want to be the good person I can be.  I want to be for others what you were to me:  walking faith, hope, and love.”

We talked some more.  As we parted with a hug and I continued on my walk, I began thinking of what she said:  “you were living faith, hope, and love to me,”  “I want to be for others what you were to me:  walking faith, hope, and love.”

Those two sentences are still ringing in my ears and swirling around in my soul.  They, those three words–faith, hope, love–make up the story of teaching.  Over the past twenty-two years to the month, I’ve often said how these three words infiltrated my spirit, how those three words have been profoundly transforming on my self-perception, my perception of others, my sense of the value of teaching, my understanding of my craft’s mission, and my actions.  They helped me put aside so-called “human nature” and focus on an individual’s “unique potential,’ that humans can change.  They were sledge hammers that I swung to shatter the dehumanizing scaffolding of classification, labeling, ranking, disconnecting, tagging, pigeonholing, separating, dividing, stereotyping, and generalizing.  They helped me concentrate on teaching as an unending series of exciting milestones, not as objectives or as finish lines or as end points.

For me, education is a love story.  It means to dream dreams while you’re awake.  Education is an act of faith. Faith is a “you can do it” word.  It’s faith in the fact that human beings have the capacity to grow and that as humans, we can become better.  Education is an act of hope.  Hope is a “could be” word.  It’s a “this isn’t it” word.  It’s a “keep going” word.  It is hope in possibility, in the fact that there is more to come, that this is not all there is.   Above all, education is an act of love.   Love is the first principle of teaching.  It is a “you’re somebody” word, a “you’re worth it” word, an “I care” word, an “I see you” word, an “I’m here for you” word.  It’s love in the fact that each person is too valuable, too unique, too noble to lose without a fight.  These words never take a holiday; they are never selective; they are never conditional.  They are mind opening, heart unlocking, eye opening, spirit raising, firing up–driving.  They’re “never give up,”  “don’t walk away,” “don’t despair” empathies, compassions, commitments, dedications, and perseverances.

To talk of faith, hope, and love in the same breath with teaching is to make the classroom into an inviting oasis that welcomes all to come to nourish their souls, spirits, and minds.   They are the cause of more miracles than are information, assessments, grades, test scores, reputations, publications, grants, resumes.  If you embrace them, they will teach you.  They will teach you, as Dale Carnegie rightly said, “When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but creatures of emotion.”  Living those three words create a habit of the heart; a wellspring of respect for, valuing of, caring about, concern for each student; and, a practice of unconditional inclusion rather than exclusion. It’s unconditional faith, hope and love in each student that makes teaching worth doing.  They mean we don’t define a person by a GPA, an academic recognition, any more than we do by how she or he dresses, the color of skin, religion, ethnicity, special needs.    Faith?  Hope?  Love?  Little words?  Little things?  Little moments?  There’s nothing little about them.

Louis