God really does hide things ( fortunately)

Waiting for the exam.

November 1985. Dressed in a skirt and blouse that were pretty but comfortable, I waited to be called in to do my exam for my Speech and Drama teaching letters. I was nervous. Never a comfortable ‘up front’ person, I realised the examiner had the power to give – or withhold – my future plans. I’d had my fill of classroom teaching after that last year teaching teenagers, including boys who were there only because the law forbade them to leave. So I’d picked up my drama studies, hoping to teach individuals or small groups.

The door opened. ‘Mrs Jones is ready for you now, Jeanette,’ the lady in charge told me. I walked in as confidently as I could.

My program.

I’d chosen several pieces to fit the criteria, including a poem I particularly loved, The Flower by George Herbert. That old metaphysical poem expressed exactly what I’d been feeling in my relationship with God lately, so I could say it with heart-felt expression.

The examiner.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was that, for a diploma examination, the examiner gives no feedback at all. Not only no ‘That was lovely, dear’, but not even a smile. Nothing. The lady, we’ll call her Mrs Jones, sat with an impassive face throughout the entire performance.

As my poem expressed emotions close to my heart, I found this unnerving. I coped with Mrs Jones’ deadpan face all through the dramas (It’s easy to hide nerves when one is moving), and through my very moving narrative poem.

But my lyrical poem undid me. As I recited it, my legs turned to jelly. I could feel them shaking. So my (fortunately) well-practised poem flowed out of me automatically while I cried inside myself, God, Help! Don’t let my legs give way (they felt as if the bones had melted). God, calm me down! Out from my mouth flowed Herbert’s’ beautiful words about being a flower that had survived many storms, while inside me was a whole new storm of sheer terror.

This was meant to be a gently lyrical poem and I was panicking! While Mrs Jones sat and stared at me.

I knew I’d failed.

After the exam I knew I must have failed, having messed up the lyrical poem so badly. I went and bought a cup of coffee and a slice of wicked-looking, delicious cake. As I sat and ate it, I tried to estimate how well – or badly – I’d really done. I decided I might scrape through the exam if I were lucky.

The results.

A few days later my results and report arrived in the mail. With trembling hands I opened the envelope. I’d passed well. My eyes flew to the section about my lyric poem.

 I forget the exact mark I received – about seventeen out of twenty I think. But there, in fountain pen cursive writing was her comment: ‘A calm and thoughtful delivery.’

God must have hidden my shaking legs from her and somehow let my practice carry me through – calmly!

Photo by Jo-Anne - me before my first lesson

So, thanking God for His grace, I became a Speech and Drama teacher.