Happy weekend. How is it going? I Pulled this out of my archives for you to peruse and enjoy.
As we passed through the hallway, I saw many labelled doors on either side. I wondered what or who was behind these doors – we did not enter any. Soon, we came to the end of the hallway.
Then a door opened in front of us – a sliding door. I entered after him and scanned the room. Thirty desks-and-chairs stood arranged each having clocks on them. There was a blackboard to one side of the widest wall while the opposite wall bore old picture frames.
I sat at the middle desk and stared at the blackboard before me. REMEDIAL was boldly emblazoned on it, probably with one of the chalks in the box resting on the teacher’s table.
I was the only one in that room – brightly lit yellow-walled – and an open book was before me.
“What am I doing here?” I asked him when he sat on the teacher’s table.
“I should be asking you.” He shook his head.
I scanned my mind – to school: remedial was used for students with learning difficulties. It was a series of classes designed to help get better grades when session was out.
We usually tagged them extra-effort students.
But what was I doing here?
He stood from the table. And then walked towards me.
Each stroke of his mahogany cane on the hard concrete floor rhymed with my pulse. But I could not figure out what made me afraid.
“REMEDIAL class,” He started, “are for students who do so badly enough to flunk out of school.”
He sat next to me and continued. “But the teacher and school authorities deem it fit to give them a chance to improve.”
“So?” My mental check on my last semester grades assured me – I wasn’t extra-effort.
As if he heard my thought, he pulled out my report sheet and circled my A-grades – twelve out of fourteen subjects. “Stop thinking about these – these are ephemeral.”
He also pulled out a leather bound book and then I began to understand.
“This remedial class is for students with learning difficulties – that find it difficult to learn from this!” He waved the book before me.
“If you can’t progress to another level of faith, you remain in this class!” he slammed the Bible on the desk with so much force that I almost jumped out of my skin.
But his expression was soft as he spoke.
“Repeating in my school isn’t wickedness, but love. What you need to do to pass is to trust and obey.”
As you reflect onthe benefits of learning at God’s feet this weekend,