I always believed he meant it when he said he’d pray for us.
He’d sit down on one of the student-section tables and swing his legs, his face a smile as he asked how we were, how he could pray for us. Every one of us. During every class.
He’d come into class and say, “I’m not sure we should have a quiz today. I think…” he’d look around at us with that gentle smile, “Callie should decide. Callie, should we have a quiz today?” Then he’d fill our Canvas grades with 100’s.
Every time I hear American Pie, I remember our lit analysis class. We’d sit in his favorite classroom and analyze, analyze, research, analyze The Great Gatsby, superman comics, “Dover Beach” and “Dover Bitch,” A Rose for Emily, and enjoy our learning, our new English skills, as we became fluent in the scholarly language.
He’d start each class with an informal but heartfelt “How are you?” and circle around the room until we’d spilled our prayers into a no-judgement zone. Three weeks into class I said I was exhausted, please pray for my sleeping issues – every class, every class after, he’d ask me about my sleep, was I getting enough?
Callie, Abby, and I always laughed about it later, because it seemed like such a small thing to remember; but it wasn’t. He cared. No one else had ever consistently prayed for me over something so small, so invisible.
Everyone vilified previous lit analysis classes – he told us to expect poor grades, that we’d improve as the semester wore on. I was ecstatic when he handed me my graded paper. I’ve always wanted to know if he left any comments on the essay I handed him two, three days before he died. I want to know if I disappointed him.
After he passed, that class crushed me – it grieved me to receive D’s, C’s in the classroom where he’d been so proud of us. I
I refuse to believe he would’ve been disappointed in me, though. It’s impossible to imagine him disappointed in any student, ever. He loved us too much.
Our first zoom meeting as advisee and advisor, he asked if there was anything, anything he could pray about for me. I believed he meant it – not like the rote question-and-answer so many of us do. I know he prayed for me. He asked me if he could share my prayer request with Julie. And he said he understood how strenuous it was – that he’d waded through it too. Months later when I met him in person, I still believed he was praying for me.
I didn’t know him as long as I would’ve liked to. I’d looked forward to the day I could meet him and Julie together. He always talked about her. I can’t remember a single conversation where he didn’t mention her. His love was so apparent, so honest – I began to believe in the beauty of marriage.
I asked for his perspective on one of my other assignments for another class. I asked if I could email my writing to him; he emailed back with honest, heartfelt feedback. As trite as it sounds, it felt seen and cared for in that email. He asked if he could share it with Julie. And he told me he’d be praying for me.
He talked about his experience with schizophrenia, OCD, depression. I thought, if he can survive three mental illness, then I can survive one. I couldn’t imagine the exhaustion he’d faced. I’ll never forget his openness in that phase of life. He became a symbol of hope and survival.
If there was ever a professor, a person who I knew loved God, it was him. He exuded peace, offered us care, concern, attention, and time in every class, every interaction. He was calm in the midst of shuffled schedules and stressful assignments. He was a smile in a challenging class, a laugh on a sleepless day, a prayer warrior amid lifelong battle.
A day before he died, he asked us to pray for him. He said that Julie had been feeding a stray cat, and they had two dogs. We asked, prayer for you, or the cat? And he laughed and said, “Both.”
I can’t remember if I prayed for him or the cat. I think I did. I hope I made that small sacrifice of time for him.
Elizabeth Smith loves coffee, reading romance novels, and British literature. She is a senior English major excited by the prospects of graduation and a return to Texas, her home state.