This Isn’t Who You Are by Jill Noble

A sadness filled my heart this past week when I learned that one of my favorite teachers had died. He was 71 years old.

When I first met Mr. Smith in my 7th grade science class, he was fresh out of college, in his early 20s. My classmates and I were his very first real-deal students.

Just over a month into his first teaching job, he had to call a student out of the classroom and into the hall to have a private scolding.

I was that student.

Seventh grade is a year of transition, with all the changes that come moving from smaller classes with one teacher in elementary school to a full day of different teachers and classrooms in junior high. There are bumps in the hormonal road of life and insecurities that come with being 12. It’s a season of navigating new terrain – an understandably rough age for most junior high kids.

There are many places in my lifetime line that could be characterized as “two roads diverged in a wood” moment. But I distinctly remember an incident that had the biggest impact of them all. I distinctly remember Mr. Smith offering me a road less traveled in the hallway outside the science room a few weeks into my 7th grade year.

As I recall, Emily Jane was the instigator of the butter-shooting incident. Seated across from me, I watched her slide a paper plate from under her desk as she carefully and sneakily dropped a cold square pat of butter into the center of the plate. She then bent the plate in half, hiding it out of our teacher’s sight, just below the top of her desk. She waited for Mr. Smith to turn his back to us to write on the chalkboard.

When he did, kapow! Little Miss Mischief-maker snapped the plate flat, and the butter square shot upward with an audible twap! as it stuck to the ceiling.

Everyone, except our teacher, was privy to the naughty happenings in the classroom. Kids quickly passed butter-loaded plates around each time he turned away from us. As each butter pat shot to the ceiling, the room erupted with snorts and laughter.

For the most part, I was a studious and well behaved student at school. However, since all the other kids were doing it, I impulsively joined in the fun for just one butter launch.

Mr. Smith spun from the chalkboard just as I raised my  paper plate above my desk and launched my butter pat. Though by that time there were many butter squares dotting the ceiling, I was the only one he saw mid-naughtiness.

He laid his chalk on his desk and looked at me. My face grew hot and my palms turned sweaty.

Mr. Smith simply said in a low voice, “Jill, step into the hallway with me.”

I immediately rose, feeling sick to my stomach, and followed him into the hallway. He closed the gray metal door behind us. The thud of the door sent a shudder down my spine. In the quietness and emptiness of the hallway, Mr. Smith gave me a road -less-traveled option.

“This isn’t who you are” he said, simply, gently.

I looked down at my feet since I could not look him in the eyes. I was ashamed. I knew he was right. That wasn’t who I was. I mustered an apology as tears started to roll. That was it. No harsh scolding from him, no being sent to the principal’s office, no time in detention. In Mr. Smith’s brand new role as a teacher, he corrected me. He spoke kindly reminding me that “that” wasn’t who I was. I’ve never forgotten that incident, that hallway correction from decades ago.

As daughters and sons of the King, we have new identities. Because of our new identity, we live and act differently. I needed to remember who all of us are by regularly recalling whose we are and then to live accordingly.

During that season of leaning hard into Jesus to better understand my daughter-ness to Him, I entered a room at church to attend a meeting. My sweet friend asked, “Can I make a nametag for you?”

I thanked her and without hesitation, I asked if she would write on my nametag the truth I had been steeping in, “Grateful Sojourner, I’m sorry Mercifully Adopted by the King of Glory.” 

Jesus removes the sting of sin, rights our wrongs, and smooths our rough edges through His amazing grace. He reminds us of who we are, and who we are not.

I’m sorry I never had the opportunity to tell Mr. Smith how his words impacted me and still do today, but I’m glad I can tell you.