“My baby crawled under my desk and unplugged my computer during the exam.  Can you please reset it?”

“I promise you, Ms. Walker.  I got stuck in my car, and I couldn’t get out.  I had the keys in the ignition, but all the electricity went out.  And the car kept running!   The windows and doors are electrical, and they locked up.  I had to call my mom to save me.”

“My kid sister spilled Coke on our Wi-Fi router and I couldn’t connect for days.  Have mercy on her, will you?  I mean, she’s only ten.  She needs your help here.”

“So. I have a pet lizard named Houdini,” said with sheepish grin.  “Yes, he escaped the comfort of his warm abode, and I had to rescue him.  He crawled into my brother’s dirty sock. I thought he died already.”

Let’s just say that being a university instructor comes with many glorious perks, not the least of which is standing on the receiving end of embellishment, exaggeration, and a myriad of seemingly heartfelt pleas for mercy.  Over the years I have tried different approaches to deal with student excuses.  The demand to be discerning and patient has weighed heavily on my heart and mind.

Admittedly, there have been times when I employed a somewhat cynical approach as I listened to or read my students’ emailed excuses.  My eyes glaze over, I brace for the rationale and explanation, and my mind and heart throw up a brick wall to fence in my frustration.   I mean, the line is drawn in the sand, the picture is painted in black and white.  I quote the law:  “In the syllabus it says…”

Simply put, I want us all to follow the rules.  And sometimes really listening and trying to understand each student’s perspective and life experience–however bizarre or odd or even mundane and ordinary–“I overslept. My car wouldn’t start. I didn’t feel well. My family relocated to another state. I got a new job.– can be positively emotionally exhausting to me.  It’s like I want to say, “Grow up.  Take the hit. Let’s move on.”

Until, of course, I’m on the other side, and I am the one in need of mercy.

On March 1, 2011, it was a bright and sunny, cool and crisp spring wannabe kind of morning.  In Kentucky as we transition from seasons, the nights can be cold and frosty causing you to grab a jacket, but later during the afternoon you’ll be pulling it off as things heat up.  It was that kind of day.

My daughter Elaine was a 20-year old student at the University of Kentucky and midterm exams were upon her.  That chilly morning before 8 a.m., she jumped in the Toyota Tacoma with exams heavy on her mind.  She had no idea that her vehicle tires would hit a patch of black ice out on Switzer Road in Franklin County on that morning sending her off the road and back on again into an oncoming Ford 150.  She didn’t know that she would land in Lexington, all right, not in a class seat but rather on top of the UK Hospital having been transported via helicopter to the trauma center.

Needless to say, I couldn’t quite keep up with my workload, much less deal with student issues.  I pressed the A button more times than I would like to confess over those weeks, making many assignments low-stakes and awarding effort instead of achievement.  By the grace of God, Elaine returned to class later that semester albeit on crutches, and she, too, needed a good measure of grace from her instructors.

After that incident, I came to realize that in this divine romance called life, I am called to show compassion on my students.  I’m charged with fostering deep and tender benevolence and kindness to everyone I encounter on a daily basis.   When I find myself impatient, frustrated, sad, or tired, I can choose to practice thoughtfulness and empathy.  Instead of seeing others as “obstacles” to my daily agenda or as extra work for me, I long to treat others the way I would like to be treated.  I now make it a mission to believe what I’m told unless there’s obvious mounting evidence to the contrary.

“You need to know, Professor Walker, that the judge made me come to court on Monday for my third DUI–it was serious–that’s why I wasn’t in class all these days.”

“My town was flooded–did you hear about that?– and we lost all power for eight days.  I couldn’t do any work.”

“Professor, the traffic was backed up to Brooklyn.  Some truck rolled over and spilled eggs all over the highway.  [Pause – then with laughter] Do you offer egg-stra credit?”   I stare at him with wide open eyes and pursed, slightly frowning lips.

And then my heart softens a bit.  I get to choose my reaction.  I recall that fine line between grace and legalism.  I hope my students will one day catch a vision of mercy in their rear-view mirror.   If I’m going to err, perhaps I can land on the side of grace.  I remind myself that goodness and mercy are pursuing me as well.  Truly, those students that catch a break or two still must prove themselves academically in my courses.  Will I be duped from time to time?  Of course.  Will I overcorrect and miss an opportunity to behave graciously.  Yes.

In the end, it’s how we are all characterized over the long haul that matters.  I pray for wisdom on when to extend the get out of jail free card to my students and when to tuck it back in the deck.  I ask God to help me remember that even the likes of Houdini need a little help sometimes.

Author:  Victoria D. Walker is the host of the podcast, Choose 2 Think.