I love my Composition 101 students. But my class session with them this past week was a tough one. That’s because I was trying to help them discover how to write an argument paper in a counterintuitive way.

Not as a soapbox to shout from or boxing match to win in one round, but as a chance to see both/all sides of an issue and learn about the roots beneath all the different thinkers holding their thoughts.

This is what a colleague recently labeled as using “dignified dialogue” — bringing more beneficial results without so much emotionally-fueled fire to burn down relationships, communities, and nations.

But this challenges my students for several reasons. For one thing, it goes against the way many of them were taught to think and write in high school. For another, it’s hard to see different and more varied gradations in the “same old” sides we have so often heard to various hot button arguments. Additionally, and perhaps most crucially in my mind, many people never learn how to consider the root issues behind different types of arguments, the source of what drives people to say what they say or feel as passionately as they feel, especially when we meet someone from an “enemy” camp.

Ironic: how right around the time of that lesson, a certain ban was passed by Alabama’s state government. (I am glad I left my phone in my office while teaching that evening because my text inbox and social media account were exploding in connection.)

I don’t usually use this space to discuss politics, and I will not go on a rant now. I do have my own strongly held beliefs on the subjects of life, choice, mothers, and babies. These have changed slightly over the course of my life, given much thought, observation, and experience, but I still hold them near and dear, without apology.

Yet, to stick to my point, as I read countless responses from friends and friends’ friends on all sides of the ban and the greater issue, all I can see are the tops of the roots: fear, anger, defensiveness, bitterness, accusations, pain. I say these are the tops of the roots, because I know these things stem from something even deeper in the hearts of the writers and the ranters.

All I can think is: what brought this person or that person to this point? Why is he so angry? Why is she so afraid? Why can’t they (on any “side”) see the fear, anger, pride, or pain of someone from another side and have enough compassion to handle their roots with care?

This is, in part, what I am helping my comp students learn how to do. I am not yet a master at it, and sometimes the arguements I meet in daily life are so volatile, I must walk away from them in silence for the sake of my own wellbeing.

But remember that experience I mentioned a moment ago? I know what is to have my own pain, anger, hatred, confusion, bitterness, and fear plainly seen by the Master Teacher-Gardener (One who was also a Master of dignified dialogue). And I know what it is to have Him uncover, clean, and prune my roots with great tenderness.

When I have been seen thusly and come out the better for it, I find I must, for my part, follow His example to approach those around me and seek to be both dignified and compassionate in all my communication with them.

Truth: is it absolute or relative? Yes.

At least according to the author of the text I currently use to teach English Composition.

As my Comp 101 students dive into the world of personal essays, they are encouraged to consider centering their essay on truth. But they are also urged to note that some truth is “the” truth (what is real or truly happened) and what is “a” truth (how only they remembered or perceived something).

So how do we know that we really know the truth?

I have tried to remain openminded and watched my current group of students wrestle through understanding this distinction in the past few weeks (while clearing professional and personal hurdles of my own). Meanwhile, I have reflected on this distinction more deeply from two angles, briefly summarized here.

Absolutism v. Relativism

Growing up, I was taught that the philosophy of relativism was the antithesis and enemy of orthodox faith. But while I am not advocating a free-for-all, continually-fuzzy mentality, if we are honest, followers of Jesus must recognize a tension of both absolute truth and truth we experience or know through personal situations and discovery. And we must rely on both…but in different amounts at different times.

The absolute truth is the rock foundation beneath the house. It cannot always be seen or even sometimes consciously felt. But it is there. Solid. Sure. Unbreakable. With the belief I profess, there is only one such source of this truth: the Almighty God who has revealed it generally (through creation and the natural world) and specifically (through the Holy Scriptures and the Lord Jesus Christ).

But there are also truths I know by observing things and people and the things I go through in my life. Though experiences may be similar, they are still relative, in a way, to each individual person’s mind, heart, and soul. They are true for you, or me, or both of us. They are the walls, windows, and decorative features of our houses, to continue the metaphor. Over time, these things may prove true continuously or change and adapt as we learn and relearn.

What is a follower of Christ to do with this dichotomy? First, we are to use both levels of truth to love our neighbors and share light with them. We must remember that most people want and need to hear about truth as it is knowable in real life experience, yet we must never water down the truth in order to help another person avoid life-changing discomfort. Second, when we feel conflict between the truth and our personal experience, we must remember words from Jeremiah 17 and 1 John 3: our hearts can be deceitful — or led to condemn us falsely. So if there is ever a conflict between what we hear in the Word and prayer and what we experience or “feel,” we must always rely more heavily on the former and use it as our foremost litmus test for ultimate truth.

The Renewed Mind

Speaking of being deceived, many of us have, somewhere along the line, started believing things as “truth” that are not really true at all. These things may be totally bogus or partly true but skewed. And they have been told to us consciously or subconsciously, actively or passively, by members of our family, community, or collective culture.

We perceive these lines and concepts as true. But they are not. Yet, to recognize them as lies and let go of them when they may have been with us for years or even a lifetime…? That’s like rocketing through the roof of the house, shooting past the atmosphere, and flying (weightless and untethered) in zero gravity.

But again, as a follower of Jesus, I recognize I am called to this. To fix my eyes on Him. To be filled with His truth. To let go of the lies and half truths that have driven me toward unnecessary, unattainable, or even ungodly ends, and to float in the weightlessness of His grace.

Then, in His time, He is renewing my mind and grounding me again on the foundational understanding of truth.

His truth.

The truth.

And when we know the truth, then we will be truly free (John 8:32, 36).

Amen…for each of us who would have the desperation and courage to embrace it.

I took the plunge. After years of avoiding it, I finally opened a Facebook account. Downside: it is causing my attention span to go downhill faster! Upside: I’m reconnecting with people that I haven’t been in touch with for years.

One of those people popped up on my suggested friends list. And I instantly recognized the name but was so surprised by several things. Surprised that she, a Chinese, had married a man from Scandinavia, where she now lives. Surprised at what a beautiful woman she has blossomed into after being a somewhat awkward tomboy type in my classes. Surprised at how quickly she reached out to me and how excited she was to see me again when she had been somewhat punkish and hard to read while she was my responsibility 13 years ago.

Seeing her face again, I was transported back to that shadowy classroom where I helped her and her classmates build their vocabulary, correct their grammar, and improve their pronunciation. And I clearly recall that she was one of the most challenging students in that class because she was so smart but could still be hard to communicate with. She was not as easy to relate to as many of the other students, and yet she directly showed how much she needed attention and love.

So I did my best to love her. And I know I’m not the only one who had a small (or large) hand in her development along the way. But seeing the way she’s turned out, I simply smile.

Teachers have some kind of heart vision that allows us to look at a student who is struggling or hurting or overly ambitious and see potential for something better now and something great in the future.

I realize now, in hindsight, I dreamed those things for her. But with most of my dreams, there is a little nagging sense of doubt that lurks in the background. Yet, seeing her as she is today, I gain a renewed sense of wanting to dream for and love my current and future students.

The love we give as educators today will likely reap a harvest of goodness whether or not we ever see it with our human eyes.

And so, we dream. And we love.

Teaching is a challenging job.

It wasn’t easy in the East when driven students expected me to be the expert who knew everything off the top of my head – and to explain everything to them in terms they could memorize. And it isn’t easy in the West when skeptical students take delight in asking complicated questions just to be obnoxious – or sleep, talk, and play on their phones through class, never realizing what an incredible opportunity they are wasting.

Educators I have known and worked with have faced numerous other difficulties in different environments with students of various ages. From endless workloads to extremely deficient resources to administrators who were not supportive, those men and women demonstrated determination, intelligence, and compassion in the face of difficulty – often all at the same time.

And then there’s the pay…. Suffice it to say, those who hold most teaching jobs aren’t in it for the money. They have to have a particular passion deep inside if they are going to stick with it and teach well.

I recognize that many of my educational colleagues do not share my spiritual beliefs, but I know that I have a choice. I can either choose to try and climb those mountains, conjure those answers, and face those giants on my own. Or I can ask the One I follow, the greatest teacher of all, to empower me.

In the past, I’ve gone down the former path. And some days I’m still tempted to walk that way again. But it has only led to frustration, failure, or burnout. Yet, I know I’m on the better path when I choose the latter and consciously ground my identity as an educator in who He says I am.

(Though I appreciate the love students show me, I can’t depend on that either; students are only with me for a little while, and it’s interesting how their “love” for an instructor is often tied to their course grade.)

When I remember how much He loves me, it gives me an energy and a confidence to teach well. An energy and confidence I could never possess on my own.

Teaching is a challenging job. But I can do it.

Because I’m loved.

Last week, students in my Business English course were required to come to my office for one-on-one conferences. Since it was just the second week of the semester and nearly all of them only recently arrived in the States, this was my first time to really talk with most of them extensively. To a person, I was struck by how sweet and thoughtful they are…and by how unique each of them is.

I thought I would be worn out by the long day of intensive communication, but it didn’t drain me nearly as much as I’d expected. At first I thought this was because we’d found lots of areas for connection: similar hobbies or interests, places we had both traveled to or places we both dreamed of visiting, special needs or questions they had that I felt very comfortable in discussing…

Later, however, I realized it was more than that. There came a moment in each meeting when I looked into a student’s eyes and the beauty – the gift – of their most basic being hit me. 

I’d like to call this a “heartbeat moment”: the instant (whether we grasp it consciously or not) when we look at a person near us and we acknowledge that they are a person, that they are living, breathing, feeling, and deserving of basic respect and in need of love.

I reflected further on those encounters and smiled at the thought of how meaningful our next class session will likely feel for me. It may not be that much different for the students, but when I look out at their faces, I will see individual marvels with individual stories that I now know more of.

This thought also comes with a challenge: to keep that heartbeat moment alive through the term and remember the humanity of these students when making various planning and grading decisions later. And it comes with a jolt of responsibility: to keep tender eyes open so that I am primed for more “heartbeat moments” with those I encounter daily – especially those I am more likely to overlook when life gets busy and distractions (and prejudices) might cloud my heart vision.

Is it possible, in this age that is (or at least seems to be) more relativistic than ever, for an educator to hold convictions based on absolutes – and use those convictions to guide the way he/she instructs or advises a group of learners?

My current composition textbook, The Curious Writer by Bruce Ballenger, presents a reformed approach to the subject, encouraging students to constantly write not from what they already know but from what they don’t yet know and want to learn. It is called writing from a basis of inquiry – and is said to yield much better final results.

In the chapter about writing an argumentative essay, Ballenger presents three different approaches for the students to consider – the classical approach of Aristotle, the truth-questioning approach of philosopher Stephen Toulmin, and the therapeutic approach of Carl Rogers. In summary, Ballenger says that the old school style which appeals from ethos (the writer’s credibility), pathos (emotion), and logos (reason) is too formulaic and leaves no room for “truth” to be questioned and modified.

While I indeed want my learners to approach things with an open mind, I also believe there’s a point where questioning things without a firm and sure guiding light to come back to can be dangerous. Even after we have searched, questioned, and explored, when we finally draw our conclusions, what is to ground them if not some aspect of Aristotle’s reasoning?

Ultimately, each instructor must answer that question for him/herself.

As for me, though many things are not completely black and white, a Spirit-empowered sense of credibility, a heart compass that points heavenward, and a wisdom-tuned sense of reason will remain the key stones in my foundation for centering my position in all types of teaching and instruction. 

I am teaching composition this term, and the first major project in my 101 sections was a personal essay. As I grade student submissions this weekend, I am struck by the powerful role a good instructor has in the lives of his/her students. And in this case, I define a good instructor as one who is a trustworthy, caring person. Because such a person creates a place of safety where his/her students feel free to open up, share, and grow at deeper levels.

Reflecting on my own educational experiences, I can immediately think of a few teachers who did NOT make me feel safe with their communication style, classroom environment, methods of discipline, or cold personal demeanor. At the same time, I can easily name a number of other teachers who made me feel safe to learn, create, ask, seek, and simply be myself under their watch. Whether or not I was able to express that sense of trusting and safety in the assignments I completed for them, it remained in my heart and influenced both my academic performance and my personal development – ultimately inspiring me to be an instructor and teacher mentor.

Back to the essays, then. Wow! I’ve only communicated with these students for a few weeks. And some of them are being instructed online so I don’t even know what they look like; we’ve never met in person. Yet, here they are, writing about all kinds of past experiences. They had complete freedom to explore the topics of their choice. But the number of students who chose to write about deeply personal experiences – some of them painful, scary, or even traumatic – surprised me.

And in a way it blessed me. As their instructor, I felt like they were saying, “Here’s a piece of who I am. And I’m trusting you to hold it with respectfully gentle hands and grade my work with great care.”

Perhaps it is my joint background in counseling and education that helps me to notice the beauty of this – and the overwhelming responsibility of it. I do not take it lightly, and I thank God for the opportunity to embrace each essay and treat each student with dignity even while I must, by design, provide a critique of their work.

True: this may happen more readily in courses like English and psychology, where communication and personal exploration are often encouraged (as compared to physics or algebra, for example). Yet I think there is a reminder in my observation for every teacher, no matter what we teach and no matter how old our students are.

Let us stop and take stock today, considering carefully how we view and treat those we instruct. And let us do our best to provide a good, safe space for them to enter into. A place where real development will take root and seeds of hope will sprout into blossoms of confident maturity.