By Phil Callaway

JUST last week, we were sitting around the supper table, and I asked the children:  “So, what did you learn today?”

“Nothing,” they replied.

Today they brought home their report cards, and we discovered they were not lying.

They say the world will never be a better place until children are an improvement on their parents – and I take comfort from this.

You see, I was a problem child during my school days. In fact, if you were to check the records at Prairie Elementary School, you would discover that I still hold the record for Most Whippings in a Week.

On my very first day of school, Leslie Kolibaba squealed on me for having my eyes open during prayer (yes, they prayed back then), and teachers viewed me with suspicion from that day onward.

By grade three, teachers were already wondering if there was any hope for me. And by high school, they knew the answer. My marks had been slipping ever since kindergarten.

To complicate matters, there were some strange teachers roaming the classrooms.

One prided himself on calling everyone by birthday. I was ‘July 26’; a friend of mine was ‘May 3rd.’ “Hi, May 3rd,” he’d say, walking past us in the hall. Or, “July 26, would you stand and read paragraph three from page 220?”

Several years after high school, my friend and his new bride were walking around a mall 1,000 miles from home, and they happened to meet this former teacher.

They stopped to talk with him. But all he said was: “Hi, May 3rd” – then he walked away.

Needless to say, this dear man’s elevator wasn’t stopping at all the right floors – and I can’t remember a thing I learned from him. Except: I never forget my friend’s birthday.

Thankfully, we had other teachers too.

In 10th grade, I was standing at the drinking fountain swapping jokes with friends – when my English teacher, Mr. Bienert, came along.

Taking me aside, he told me some simple words that have changed my life. Later, I discovered that he’d been in the faculty lounge talking to some of the other teachers – all of whom were wondering if there was any hope for me.

“Listen, Callaway,” said Mr. Bienert. “Your math marks aren’t adding up. Your gift at science has yet to be discovered. Biology? Chemistry? Physics? Well, the experiment is not working.”

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I’d been told all this before; it was not news to me.

But what he said next was the best news I’d heard in a long time: “I want you in my Communication Arts class. I think God has given you a gift in the area of communication.”

The very next day, I had no trouble getting out of bed.  I even put on matching clothes. And after joining his class, I worked eagerly on my very first assignment: writing a poem for a poetry contest.

I can’t remember a word I wrote; but I’ll never forget Mr. Bienert standing at the front of the classroom, pulling five bucks from his wallet, and calling me forward.

“Congratulations Callaway. You’ve got first prize,” he said, stuffing the bill into my eager hand. I want you to read this in chapel tomorrow. It’s good stuff.”

The next day, my knees knocked and my hands shook, as I walked to the podium. But I read that poem loudly before the entire school.

All because someone believed in me.

You know, I’ve been influenced by a whole lot of people over the years. Some have scolded me. Some have hollered at me. Some have spanked me. And most have forgotten my birthday.

But those who influenced me the most are not the ones who pointed out all my faults, but those who knew that God was bigger than my short-comings. Those who influenced me the most didn’t just point a finger, they held out a helping hand.

None of us knows what God will do when we encourage someone, do we?

I almost flunked French class in high school. Now they’re translating my writings into languages like German, Polish, Spanish and English (one of which I speak fluently). I was born with a face for radio; but a new video series of mine is being distributed in thousands of churches around the world.

This is no tribute to me.

It is a tribute to the goodness and greatness of God. And it’s a tribute to those, like Mr. Bienert, who believed in God enough to believe the Lord could do something with a crazy kid like me.

Next time you look at a child, think not of what they are – but of what they could become, with a little encouragement from you.

Phil Callaway is author of Parenting: Don’t Try This at Home!

August 2007