One of my favorite people, English Anglican priest (now retired) Nicky Gumbel, once said, “Don’t be afraid of pressure. Pressure is what transforms a lump of coal into a diamond.”
He’s right, but sometimes we place undue pressure on ourselves. It may come from an unacknowledged desire to hasten the transformative process. Or we have an idea of what we should be or how we wish people to perceive us, and we struggle to be that. And we know we aren’t. At least not yet.
I have an image of a professor dressed with an Italian casual nonchalance befitting a tenured professor at the University of Milan, lecturing to a class of maybe a hundred or more students. He spices his lectures with PowerPoints, which he effortlessly projects at the perfect moment in his riveting lesson on Egyptian hieroglyphics—a subject that he’s somehow made more intriguing than whatever the students might otherwise peruse on social media. They place their handheld devices face down because the lecture is so riveting, and the images he flashes on the screen are so intriguing. The students glance at each other with raised eyebrows as they lean forward, furiously taking notes, as each whispers to their classmate, “This is AMAZING. I never knew Egyptian hieroglyphics were so fascinating. I can’t wait to rush to the campus bookstore to buy his latest book.”
With that professor on my mind, Lori called just as I pulled into the Campbellsville University parking lot for my class. Searching for my cell phone, I managed to spill coffee on my sweater, ruining my image of the impeccably dressed professor. I was slightly irritated by her interruption since I was mentally rehearsing how to fire up the classroom computer and get my PowerPoints on the screen before the students arrived, waiting on me to get my technology-impaired self together, rolling their eyes as they checked messages on their phones.
“Enjoy your day,” Lori cheerfully said.
“Enjoy your day,” I thought. Why would she say that? How am I supposed to enjoy my day with Professor Perfection—author of numerous bestsellers, tenured at the University of Milan (or was it the Sorbonne?) riveting lecturer, the epitome of sartorial splendor, coiffured hair—dogging me and my coffee-stained sweater into my classroom of reluctant learners?
Then a word from a sage of yesteryear came to mind: Popeye: “I yam what I yam.”
I grinned at the mental image of Popeye, with Robin Williams singing, “I yam what I yam.”
We are imperfect and always will be– at least on this side of eternity.
My lecture was from the Old Testament. I thought of Moses, who apparently had a speech impediment of some sort, and God telling him to go forward anyway, “And I will be with your mouth and teach you what to say” (Exodus 4:12).
Rather than Professor Perfect, I prefer the inadequate characters of the Bible, like Moses or the Apostle Paul: “I am not a polished speaker” (I Corinthians 11:6), or dozens of others whom God somehow managed to use despite their flaws.
Transformation is a slow process. Lumps of coal don’t change into diamonds overnight. But God is patient beyond our wildest dreams.
Walking into my classroom with Moses stuttering on my right and Paul stammering on my left, I felt relaxed and confident.
And Lori’s words, “Enjoy your day,” echoed in my ear.
“I think I will,” I said to myself.
And I did.