Lessons Learned

When I was a young teen, I had a rather traumatic experience that occurred during my Sunday school class. I chose the word ‘traumatic’ because when you’re a young girl of fifteen years of age, most everything that doesn’t go as you perceive it should could easily be labeled as ‘traumatic’.

To begin with, the newly formed class had combined ninth through twelfth graders due to the small number of attendees. This alone caused me anxiety, because for me there were now older boys whom I admired from afar in my class. Unfortunately, as a naive and shy sophomore in high school, I already felt all eyes were upon me, judging me constantly. The new combination of kids, both younger and older was definitely not appealing. To make matters worse, there was a new teacher in the class. Dick, as I’ll choose to refer to him henceforth, was a news broadcaster for a local station and his reputation in the church proceeded him. His prestige and influence was paramount, and it was evident to the most casual observer that Dick was full of himself, believing that he was unmatchable in all things, including an abundance of intellect.

I remember sitting in the newly formed circle of Sunday School members as Dick read the opening Bible verse. We all know it – it’s the one in Corinthians that references fornication. Well Dick read the scripture, following it with, “Do you believe that? Well, don’t because it’s bull.” He then looked at a young boy in the group and asked, “Aren’t you glad that part about fornication is bull?”

I remember everyone, except me, giggling nervously. I was too appalled by Dick’s statement about what he’d just read to manage even a smile. He must have noticed the look on my face (unfortunately, my face has always revealed precisely that about which I'm thinking), because he quickly turned his attention to me and asked, “What’s wrong, Cindy? Don’t you believe that’s a load of bull?”

The roar in my ears was deafening, but I vividly remember shaking my head and saying “no” with conviction. For all I know, I released my profound, emphatic “no” in a scream.

“Why not, Cindy?”

“Because I don’t believe anything in the Bible or anything Jesus said is a load of bull.”

There it was. In my conservative, young teen ways, I adamantly believed the Word of God and defended it with my all despite the round of surprised eyes, much to my horror, turned toward me. Young teen Cindy, who never said much of anything unless she was fully comfortably in her environment, had managed to speak up, defending what she truly believed with all her youthful heart.

I don’t remember much of what happened thereafter, but I do remember leaving the class extremely upset, horrified by what my Sunday School teacher had dared to say to his class. In retrospect, perhaps Dick was a student of reverse psychology and looking for just such a reaction as the one I gave him. To this day, I'm unsure, and I really don’t know what his preferred method of teaching was supposed to be, I just know it had an adverse effect on me. It scarred me, and I did not want to go back - did not want to attend another one of his classes.

My mother, ever supportive, was as horrified by the events as I had been. She lodged a complaint with the church’s council, but it was easily dismissed; instead, Dick and his teaching methods were supported. In response to the council’s failure to review my complaint, I did not want to attend Sunday School again and swore I would not.

A few days later, Sunday morning rolled around again and from where I lay across the bed, I watched my mother dress for church. At one point, she paused and took a seat beside me on the bed.

“You know, you can stay home if you want, but if it was me, I would give the class another chance,” she said.

Surprised by her suggestion, I shook my head. “I can’t go back.” I remembered the look on all my fellow classmates’ faces too clearly to think about returning.

“Some things we have to face in this life are very hard, but it is important to face them despite the difficulty. If you go back and give the class a second chance, you will come out looking better in the long run. If you go to class today and then decide you don’t want to return, it will be fine, but at least you can say you gave it a fair chance.”

I remember listening to her words, and a dawning realization crept into my being. No matter how difficult it might be, I had to go back to that horrible Sunday School class so that I would not be labeled a ‘quitter’. I knew if I went back, my reaction and my point of view about the entire situation would have more meaning and validity.

Despite my initial reluctance and prompted by my mother's words, I rose that morning and dressed. I did attend Dick’s class again, and I entered the room with my head held high despite the surprised looks of those in attendance. I remember sitting in that cold metal chair within the Sunday School circle, an unnatural calmness filling me. Deep inside I knew I had just accomplished a great feat and won a war even though it might have been one that I waged with myself.

It is a fact that the invaluable lesson taught by my mother and learned so reluctantly by me that morning has continued to thrive and grow inside me through long years. I cannot begin to name the number of times in my life when I had to continue to go on, to try again, and to confront a situation I did not wish to face. Sometimes doing so was for the first time and sometimes it was for the second, third, or even more times. Even as an ever impressionable teenager, on that Sunday day so long ago, I was able to learn that whatever the outcome may be, I would always be a winner in the grand scheme of things for confronting an uncomfortable situation. Thank you, dear Momma, for teaching me to persist and persevere despite a desire to hide; such valuable lessons are the very crux and essence of life.

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” Kahlil Gibran