Pride

The document is sitting in front of me as I write this.
Seven pages of paper, six and one-fifth of typed words and there is elegant blue writing incised over the words from the pen of my professor. The man did a really thorough job on my English paper. I read his comments days after SDSU let out, and I was struck at just how consuming and intimate his critique was. It touched my heart. William N. Rogers, professor of English at SDSU, is a teacher who really cares. It was his desire to see me do well that pushed me to work hard because I did not want to let him down.
The class was called "Modern Chinese and Japanese Women's Literature." It was the last class I added, I needed one more class and I took it because it looked interesting. The professor expected quality work from us. My final paper was seven pages. The ideas rattled around in my head and it took me a long time, the thesis kept slipping out my hands like butter and it required a lot of fattening to make the paper reach the page expectations. I received a grade that was a "B+/B" (not sure what the combination means). Believe me, it has never felt better to earn a second place in something. I worked my you-know-what off to achieve that second place trophy.
The hard work instilled something in me, a sense of pride.
Pride.
Not the kind that qualifies as one of the seven deadly sins but the kind that empowers one with self worth.
Its a moment I want to hold close and never let go.
Last Sunday, our Co-Pastor preached a sermon entitled "Do your Best and let God do the rest."
Again, like many a challenge in college, it was a miracle that brought me through, divine providence as America's founders put it. It was God who did it. I'm not going to go into all the details but it never ceases to amaze how the circumstances line up so perfectly to allow me to survive in life. He is right there when I need him. This semester has once again been a testament to that.
There are many paths in this life that lead to striking out, and worse, to be taken out of the game for good, to become one of the nameless watchers in the stands who cheer on the other players. One thing I refuse to be is the nameless watcher who lives in front of the television screen or computer game. Every struggle is a life affirming thing and the victories while hard fought, are oh-so-sweet.