By Ann Farabee

For a split second, I was almost in trouble at school.

Shocking, I know.

Thankfully, it was a false alarm.

When my sixth grade teacher instructed the class to line up, I would always scurry to be first. Then I would work diligently to make sure everyone else lined up in a straight line!

I am sure my teacher appreciated my efforts.

After finishing our daily work, we were supposed to read a book. I was excellent at reading books, but some students talked when they were supposed to be reading books, so I made sure to keep an eye on them as I read, just in case the teacher did not notice that they were not following the instructions.

Sometimes, I got to take names when the teacher left the room. It was quite an honor and I was insistent on doing it right. Well, sort of. I could possibly be coerced at times — especially by cute boys. I would write their name on the chalkboard and then erase it several times because their behavior improved slightly. Or was it because they were begging me? Overall, I would say I was not too bad as a name-taker. Usually by the time the teacher came back, I had erased all the names I had written on the board.

One day, my streak of being a perfect student was put in jeopardy. While everyone was supposed to be reading, I pulled out some secret papers I kept hidden in my desk. It was my life’s secret work, for I was writing a best seller on notebook paper, front and back, about being on tour with the Beatles — John, Paul, George and Ringo.

One day, as I was minding my own business at my desk, there she stood — my teacher — reaching for my stapled papers. Tears filled my eyes because I knew she would rip them in half and throw them in the trash can like I had seen her do many times when she retrieved items from other students.

She flipped through the precious pages that held my Beatles Best Seller. She took it to her desk. She sat down. She was reading it! I also noticed that big trash can beside her desk where she threw away items she had confiscated from her students. I was not hopeful about the outcome of this situation.

It was an incredibly long wait. Front and back. Page after page. She kept reading. I was fearfully awaiting the thump I would hear when my papers hit the teacher’s trash can. But it didn’t happen. What I feared would be placed in the trash can actually became a life defining moment. She called me to her desk, placed those precious pages back in my hands, and looked me in the eyes as she said, “You are a good writer.”

I can guarantee that no one — not even the meanest kid in the class — could have wiped that smile off my face. From my teacher, I had heard the words “good” and “writer” in the same sentence about what I had written. I never finished writing my book. It ended up in my closet. I suppose I eventually threw it away.

But you cannot throw away the words of affirmation from my teacher that were inevitably etched in my 11-year-old mind, “You are a good writer.” Those five words created a moment that mattered.

I wish I had known enough to smile a little that day when I heard those words from my teacher as she envisioned a bit of my future that I lacked the confidence to even begin to imagine.

Someone thought I was a good writer — and they took the time to tell me so. Those words from a teacher mattered.

Those words began to change the trajectory of my life.

What if she had tossed my writing in the trash can and reprimanded me because I was supposed to be reading? But she did not. She chose to not only read it, but also to respond to it.

A few weeks later, I published (made copies on the copy machine) our first edition of 6th Grade News at Woodrow Wilson School.

Our words matter and our actions matter. Sometimes they may change a life.

Are our words ordained by God? Can our lives be shaped by God through circumstances or words?

The answer is yes!

In creation, God brought everything into existence, shaped it for His purpose, and called it good.

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker. Contact her at annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com.