One of the things I loved about teaching was knowing I could help people achieve their goals. I aimed to get them through the semester successfully so they could move to the next level. And since I knew what the final challenge of the term entailed, and what obstacles the students needed to overcome, I was usually successful in preparing them for the final test.
Every now and then, however, there would be a student who sabotaged my best efforts to help him/her. I am not talking about those who lacked ability, or those who were lazy, or those who were not sure why they were there at all. I am thinking of the student who seemed to want to succeed but who always found a way to fail, albeit with the best intentions.
One of my students, a sweet Asian girl, habitually arrived about 20 minutes late each morning for a 2-hour class. By that time, we were all on task, sometimes with the students quietly composing or re-writing their first drafts. She attempted to sneak in the back door and slide into her desk without a disturbance. However, she kept her books in a crinkly plastic bag which inevitably rustled and crackled as she extricated her supplies. Normally, I did not tolerate late arrivals, but after discussing the problem with her, I found that someone else brought her to school daily, and she had no control over their schedule. Since it was a 2-hour class, I decided to allow her to continue, accepting "no solution" as a compromise. However, I did bring her a canvas bag in which to tote her books. The next day she arrived with her plastic bag inserted in the canvas bag. Once again, no solution.
Needless to say, this girl was always one step behind but eager to catch up. So she would inevitably show up in my office after class, when I was relaxing with a cup of tea and preparing for my next class. I quickly learned that all my "help" was like water running down a drain. Nothing seemed to stick. No amount of time spent with her seemed to make any difference whatsoever. She brought out the Inspector Clouseau in me. I'm not sure my eye began to twitch when I saw her, but once I did spill tea all over myself when I turned and saw her at my office door.
Finally I confessed my frustration to a close friend, who gave me some of the best advice of my life. "Your problem," she said, "is that you think you should be able to help her. And there are some people who cannot be helped. Once you accept that fact, you will no longer be frustrated." My friend was 100% on target. I began to relax and enjoy this student for who she was. No longer did I desire her success more than she did. I began to realize that she was getting different things out of attending college; success was not necessarily her goal in life. And I was willing to allow her to take what she could and leave the rest --- whether it fit my norms and expectations or not.
Unfortunately, that girl eventually stopped attending college and went on with another phase of her life, presumably happy after all. Also unfortunately, the lesson I thought I learned did not stick forever. There are still people in my life I think I should be able to help, but cannot. When someone spends more than an hour on the phone telling me about all the things that make her unhappy in life, somehow the "helper" in me kicks in, and I begin thinking of "solutions" to her problems. I lay awake at night solving problems that are not my own. I have not yet learned that some things are unfixable. And then in my frustration, I begin to resent the fact that I cannot make my friend happy.
After the wonderful gift of the sacrament of confession, once again I have come to a different starting place. No longer (at least for a time) do I think I "should" be able to help another person achieve her goals or to be happy and content. I realize again that Jesus did not try to "fix" people, but He welcomed them into His warm embrace and invited them to enjoy His Life -- now and forever. If they chose not to accept His invitation, He allowed them to walk away. Their sadness broke the heart of the Good Shepherd who gladly would have shouldered their cross, but He let them go. And when they returned to their father's house, He gladly brought out the ring, the cloak, and the fatted calf, saying, "Let us rejoice, for what was lost is now found!"
