The Gift of a Good Teacher

When I was in sixth grade, my parents told me that I would be switching from Catholic school to public junior high the following year. In preparation, I went one day to visit the junior high school. The principal assigned a student to be my guide, and I went with that student to all her classes.

I have only one clear memory from that day. I was sitting at a table at the beginning of English class, and the teacher came over and put a book down in front of me. It was a novel, not a textbook, and not something the class was reading. It was a book he had chosen just for me.

“I thought you might like to read this,” he said with a smile.

Up till then, no other teacher in that school had seemed to notice my existence. But here was this English teacher, not only greeting me but recognizing that I would likely be bored sitting in a class that I had no context for, and giving me something else to do instead.

Nearly 40 years later, I still remember the way that 10-second gesture of kindness made me feel seen and valued as a person.

That teacher, Mr. Gillard, became my English teacher the following year, and again the year after that. I discovered that he had taught four of my older siblings as well, so being in his class was something of a family legacy.

He quickly ascended the ranks of my all-time favorite teachers. To this day, I still remember the ingenious mnemonic devices he invented to help us remember grammar points. I can still picture his chalkboard drawings and the layout of his classroom, even though I barely remember the rest of the school. And how could I ever forget the original poems he composed for his students every Valentine’s Day? We left his classroom knowing more about English, but even more importantly, knowing that our teacher truly cared about us.

In college, majoring in education, I was given an assignment to write about a teacher who influenced me. I chose Mr. Gillard.

“To this day,” I wrote in the essay (which I still have), “I find myself using his mnemonic devices in my writing techniques and smiling as I remember when he taught them to me. But more than that, Mr. Gillard instilled in me a love for writing that will forever be a part of my life. He was my inspiration, and to him I owe every word that my pen inscribes on paper, for he set the art of writing into my heart for a lifetime.”

I made a copy, put it in an envelope, and mailed it to him.

After college, I became a classroom teacher. Each year on Valentine’s Day, inspired by Mr. Gillard, I wrote an original poem for my class. Every so often, I would email my former teacher for advice, which he always imparted with both generosity and humility.

When I told him that I was leaving teaching and going to study graduate theology, he told me that he often went to early morning Mass before the school day began. I hadn’t known we shared the same faith. Now I saw the Source of his strength.

Decades passed. Mr. Gillard retired after a long and highly successful teaching career. I became a mother and an author. We kept in touch.

One day, I mentioned to Mr. Gillard in an email that one of my children had been very ill. The following week, a package arrived for that child. Inside was a get-well card from Mr. Gillard—along with a book.

I thought you might like to read this.

As an 11-year-old child, I had sat in Mr. Gillard’s classroom, feeling invisible, and he gave me a book. Now, he was giving the same gift to my child. Not the same book—we were different people, and he knew we’d have different interests—but the same gift. The gift of a teacher who cared.

When my mother died in 2020, Mr. Gillard sent a heartfelt message of condolence to my siblings and me. Along with his message, he attached a photograph of a note my mom had written him long ago. He had kept it for nearly forty years.

Dear Mr. Gillard,

This is just to thank you for teaching our children.

As I look back on the years our children have spent at [this school], I think that what has been most important to them has been the interest and encouragement, patience and skills of a few teachers. You are one of the first who come to my mind.

For all you have taught our children—about books, and about who they are and what is important in life—thank you.

“Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” the young man asks Jesus in Mark 10.

“Why do you call me good?” Jesus replies. “No one is good but God alone.”

At first, Jesus’ question seems puzzling. Is He saying He’s not good? Is He separating Himself from God’s goodness?

But pondering it in the light of Truth, His meaning becomes clear.

Jesus is good. There’s no question about that.

Since Jesus is good, and no one is good but God, then it follows that His goodness and God’s goodness are one in the same.

Jesus’ question is intended to help the young man make this connection—to lead him to see that, when he calls Jesus good, the young man is recognizing His divine nature.

And when anyone else in this world is good, we can recognize the divine image in them, too. For their goodness is God within them. It is the hidden Christ, living His life in His people, and showing His goodness through them.

In this pattern, every good teacher is an image of the Good Teacher who dwells within them.

Every teacher who imparts to students not just facts, not just knowledge, but a sense of being truly cared for; every teacher who values not just information, not just curriculum, but the person, the whole person sitting in front of them; every teacher who shows children “who they are and what is important in life,” is a living expression of God’s love for His children.

With Mr. Gillard, it all started with a book.

With Mrs. Cutler, who gushed over the (mediocre) stories I wrote in first grade and begged me to bring her more, sowing the seeds of my path as a writer, it started with words of encouragement.

With Mrs. Kines, the college professor whose great love for children’s books ignited my own passion for them, it started with contagious enthusiasm.

With Dr. Howard, the grad-school professor who, when I emailed him about making up assignments after I was injured in a bad accident, replied, “Just get better. That is the priority,” it started with empathy.

With every good teacher, it starts with something, and that something is a unique and unrepeatable gift, a gift that stretches across generations as its impact passes from one heart to another through time, through experience, through memories, through life.

The gift of a good teacher doesn’t end when we exit the classroom door. Its legacy lasts forever, because it is inseparable from the eternal goodness of God.   

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash