“Then I’ll tell the world what I find, speak out boldly in public, unembarrassed.” Psalm 119:46 The Message

Shy. Bashful. Sensitive. These words defined my early childhood and restrained my voice until I met Mr. Peterson, a month after my parents divorced.

I stepped off the noisy yellow bus for the first day of school, careful not to scuff my new shoes on the metal steps. I toted a square metal lunch box that sported the flying car from the latest Disney movie, Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang in one hand and an empty red book bag in the other. I scurried past the grin of the nodding principal, up a short flight of stairs into Mr. Peterson’s fifth grade classroom. The familiar scent of white chalk dust, yellow number two pencils, and pink rubber erasers greeted me along with Mr. Peterson’s warm laughter as I took my seat near the windows.

Laughter filled his classroom and washed over my heart like a healing salve. His silly antics relieved the pain I carried from my broken home. For a few hours a day, I remembered that joy still existed. But there was one problem. Mr. Peterson soon discovered I didn’t laugh out loud. Embarrassed by the sound of my own voice, I muted my laughter. My mouth gaped wide open, my face turned bright red, and my shoulders heaved up and down in a perfect, jerking rhythm, but I never uttered a sound. Unsatisfied, Mr. Peterson threw me a challenge that changed my life.

“Dawn,” he said, “if you learn to laugh out loud so the whole class can hear you by the end of the year, I’ll gladly pass you to the sixth grade. But, if you haven’t found your voice by then, you’ll repeat my class next year.”

Gulp! In today’s educational system, he would’ve been in a heap of legal trouble for that statement, but back then we didn’t challenge authority and I took him quite seriously. From then on, the game ensued. When he caught me in mute laughter, his jokes or silly antics continued until he coaxed audible sounds from me—rewarding me with a round of applause from my classmates.

Not only did his challenge un-mute my laughter, but it taught me to speak up for myself.

In some ways, Mr. Peterson filled gaps my own father left behind. He walked alongside this shy, bashful, sensitive girl through some of my deepest troubled waters and lifted my head above my circumstances. He used laughter to elevate my self-worth and protected me until I could speak up for myself.

Heavenly Father, watch over our children as they walk through the school doors and into new classrooms this fall. Prepare their hearts to learn, open their eyes to your truth, and bless them with the wisest teachers who will help them discover their voices. May our children be ever sensitive to your voice above all others and give them boldness to speak up for your Name’s sake. Amen.

Blessings,