Mercy and Justice

So there we were at my graduation and I said to my family, Let’s go get a picture on the bridge, because it’s like this iconic photo op at GFU.

And along came my favorite psych prof huffing and puffing in her great pizazzy shoes.

My family was just about to leave. She was just arriving.

Oh I’m so glad I caught you! I tried to come early for you, Genevieve…

It was God’s timing.

Internally, my jaw hit the floor. All I had done was make an offhanded comment the week before that I was bummed she wouldn’t be there.

See, here’s a funny thing.

I had packed in so many classes, I could have graduated a semester early. But I chose not to, because I wanted to graduate with my friends in the spring, and finish my minor, and enjoy my final year.

I barely finished my minor by the skin of my teeth, I didn’t enjoy my final year, and I didn’t graduate with my friends.

I was so stressed out all the time because I figured if I didn’t get it all done in eight semesters, there would be a really difficult financial discussion with the parental unit.

Ok, that’s not true. I chose to take eighteen credits that spring, the maximum they allow you. It was the first semester I had ever done that. But I wanted to finish my minor AND do my senior project AND take a certain fun history elective and I thought Well YOLO!

Some of my best life decisions start with, Well fuck it!

And somewhere in there was a senior prank involving the bear. Hehehe.

Anyway, this great prof — a wonderful woman — had such great mercy on me. The final project in AbPsych was a presentation based on research and at the time, I haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaated research. It was a) not a group project, so I couldn’t rely on classmates’ help, b) required public speaking which, despite four years of training in high school and tons of college classes, I have never enjoyed, and c) part of my minor, NOT my major.

So it just grew to gigantic proportions in my mind until I was so stressed the hell out, I think I ended up delaying it twice. She let me reschedule multiple times. I presented during the absolute last week of class.

On the bridge there, my prof made a joke about how proud she was but heck, she didn’t know how I had done because she hadn’t finished the grading yet. We laughed together.

As we were yucking it up, I glanced over and saw my parents’ smiles freeze, and I thought, Oh great, that’s gonna be a convo in the car later.

I don’t think my parents even realize their daughter’s own inability to ask for help.

I definitely remember an email between me and my prof along the lines of I’m so sorry I’m just so bad at asking for help when I need it.

See, I was homeschooled, so pre-college in high school, I basically just taught myself everything. I set my own schedule and did endless papers and read all the classics and endless Christian history…

I’m extremely German and uptight and detail-oriented and organized and my biggest stressor in college was my inability to recognize that professors want to help.

Anyway, I didn’t get to see all my psych profs or friends at graduation because GFU did this janky, COVID, three-separate-ceremonies weird thing and I was stuck in the liberal arts one and all my friends were graduating with their STEM degrees because I always made friends with the down-to-earth people. Who majors in dumb shit, like stories?

Oh.

Right.

Me.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Anyway, I had to learn some tough lessons and lean into some advice my prof gave me that semester.

In that class, I learned that Your body produces the same physical responses when you are nervous as when you are excited so I told myself I’m really really really excited to share all this tons of knowledge — and I had TONS because I researched the heck out of my topic — about sleepwalking and night terrors. Think of all the tired parents out there and kids who struggle with this and the lack of treatment options because it’s so common and everyday they just don’t study it and doctors throw medication at sufferers without comprehensives studies. How would this affect my fellow classmates? Statistically, how many students on this campus probably have to deal with sleepwalking?

Before I knew it, I was all excited.

Have fun with it, my prof said. Or something like that. Maybe I misheard her and got a bit too rad. I threw in a pic of that monster from Monsters, Inc. on my slides.

And for my discussion question, I brought in a news story I had been mentally wondering about for years. What are the moral implications of murder during sleepwalking? This man claims he drove across town and murdered his mother-in-law entirely in his sleep.

True story. You can look it up.

And I heard my classmates’ voices swell in excitement as they talked.

Ok, so I didn’t see my prof’s signal so I went a bit overtime. No presentation is perfect.

But I knew I had nailed it. The peer review was gushy.

When you nail a presentation, you just know.

Like the time I did an entire presentation on suggestopedia and yes, of course I chose that one because it stood out to me as the silliest, stupidest theory and my TESOL prof laughed at the end and said it was his favorite of all the teaching theories and I thought Bombdiggity, that’s an A!

So that’s why I laughed when my psych prof made that joke about grades.

But my parents are highly justice-oriented. Give to each their due. Did you work HARD, Genevieve?

I never brought home a C.

That’s why I always return the stuff I borrow from people. Give back what you take.

These days I try to bring gifts everywhere I go too. To draw them toward God.

A professor who jokes about grades? My parents probably thought.

But because both of them have been good Christian mentors to me, it makes me think about the mercy and justice of God.

It’s important to know when to do justice to others. And how to have mercy.

And how to balance both.