Giving Folks Honest Feedback

It's that time of the semester when students come to me in tears about their grades. They realize it's too late; no amount of begging or remorse changes the reality of the grade. 

I loathe grading. It's my least favorite part of my job. Yes, it's time consuming, tedious, and repetitive, but that's not the reason why I dislike it so much. I dislike it because I love the students so much that I'm rooting for them to succeed. I want them all to shine. I want God's mercy and grace to flow through me, but those terrible grades seem like some kind of punishment. I know this isn't true, but still, it feels this way. I cry out to them, "Don't worry about this grade! You are great! You are loved! You can do it!" Handing back papers exhausts me.

One time, I handed a student her C paper with tears forming in my eyes. She tried so hard, but she missed the mark. She slowly said, "I think you are more upset about this grade than I am." It was true.

Over the years, however, I've realized the importance of giving honest, clear feedback--even if it's painful and uncomfortable. It's not harmful to students to know the truth; sometimes I'm just too worried about protecting students' emotions. This is ridiculous. Saving people from honest feedback, even if it's difficult for them, doesn't help them at all. I'm learning this.

Saving people from their mistakes, even if it means they lose scholarships, doesn't serve them. It's not always loving to save people from their mistakes.

I'm learning to let people cry and experience all sorts of distress because of my feedback. It's the only way to grow. It's the only way to learn that their inherent beauty and value have nothing to do with performance anyway. If I didn't tell them the truth, I'd rob them of experiencing what only a bad grade can teach them.

I'm glad I gave myself this little grading pep talk before I hand back the next set of papers.

Go Forth!

This morning I remember Isaiah 55:12:

"You will go out in joy 
and be led forth in peace; 
the mountains and the hills 
will burst into song before you
and all the trees of the fields 
will clap their hands." 

Some days I feel like this; the whole world bursts into song. I see signs and symbols--in the mountains and the trees, the icy winter sky and the snowflakes-- that a great God has touched this creation, leaving traces of His nature. I go out with joy in my heart and feel led forth in peace on these kinds of days.

On these days, I remember my status as a child of God, seated securely. I remember that God pronounces peace and joy over me. I begin with the truth of it and let it burst over me, clapping till I'm giving it my full attention.

I go forth into it.

Special Delivery

My daughter badly fractured her big toe! A plate fell on it. It's so painful! It will heal in time, but no walking to school or any kind of fun winter activity. 

When my Wise Big Sister hears the news, she places an order with Insomnia Cookies for an immediate delivery of fresh-baked cookies (delivered right to the door in a box--warm and gooey).

My sister lives so far away, but whenever she hears that one of her nieces needs anything, she sets up some kind of special delivery.

When your holiday feels ruined by a fractured toe, a delivery of homemade cookies soothes the soul. You feel special and chosen and loved and seen. 

I'm thankful for doctors, sisters, cookies, and daughters who feel loved by them all. My daughter says through her tears, "God really does care about my toe."

And if the evidence of that care comes in the form of warm white chocolate cranberry cookies, we'll take it.