For a brief period a few years back I had the pleasure of teaching a college class. I kept badgering my son about the standards for instructors.
"Do you call them by their first name or address them formally?"
"Precisely how short is a short paper?"
"What can I expect in the way of participation for a late afternoon class?"
One thing he mentioned was about the professor overseeing his capstone project.
"He has a policy of not coddling. We meet each week and he is there to support us but there is no hand holding." I was pretty sure he was not referring to PDA's.*
"What does that mean?" I wanted details.
"He does not supply the motivation. That is up to us. He says that leads to a better paper, but a worse student."
The notion settled into the cracks of my mind. I was, it could be argued, an avid cheerleader. One of my part time jobs that fall involved spending my mornings with people who had not lost their primary teeth. Perhaps such boosting was appropriate for them. They cannot even reach the drinking fountain without help.
But by the time you are in your early twenties, the drive that gets you across the stage at graduation should come from within, not a push from the faculty.
There are moments when it feels like it is just too hard. This marriage. These obstacles. This project. The pandemic. Social unrest. A praying person might hint that now would be a terrific time for God to step in with a leg up.
Still it is possible that He resists the urge not out of laziness, or multitasking, but because of policy. Maybe that would result in a better day but a worse person.
*Public displays of affection.
