Compassionate Criticism



The boxes of my past were stacked one on top of the other. On a rainy day, I opened the oldest one first. Long ago, Mom laboriously glued my rudimentary pre-school and Kindergarten artwork into a huge scrapbook. I felt the rough texture of each finger-painted picture. Turning the pages, I followed my progression—messy scribbles, erase marks, lots of teacher's red ink. Learning didn’t seem to come easy for me.

I noticed that when my teachers wrote something encouraging, better work seemed to follow. We all recall those special teachers—the ones who reach behind the failure, and see something worthy to hold onto. 

Yet, the red ink marks told a story. The bold letter grades shouted their disapproval of my answers—magnifying how wrong I felt about myself.

Not that there isn’t a place for red ink and grades, but the critical words written beneath those grades, or the ridicule in front of my classmates often hurt far more. As a youngster, I could already see that other kids were smarter than I.  

Learning new concepts seemed to take me twice as long. But I eventually learned—just not in time to score very well on those pesky annual achievement tests. Yes, Mom saved every one of those too. A bar graph visually labeled me below average year after year.



In fifth grade, the educational puzzle pieces fell in place. While I wasn’t a perfect student, I’d become a better one. Yet something had happened to my heart along the way. I’d become sensitive to criticism. Yes, criticism has its place, but sometimes in the hurry-up nature of classrooms (and boardrooms, family kitchens, and wherever else we are), critical words miss their intended mark, and hit the heart instead.

Learning how to deliver criticism isn’t easy. As I looked through the boxes of my school life, some teachers knew how to package criticism within encouraging words. And that encouragement led to motivation—which fueled my progress. 



As I sealed the boxes again, I realized whenever someone took the time to be compassionate towards me in my struggle, the criticism was more encouraging than it was critical.

When we take the time to first understand someone's feelings, we often find that our compassion will take us further than our criticism ever will. 

And in the end, isn’t that what's most important?


Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming cost...
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Planting Good Seeds

Image
Harvest will always depend on what we plant and how well we care for our crop.    Looking over my seed packets, I notice they’re different than the ones I planted before. One package is called Word seeds. The directions say that each of my words is a seed, so it cautions me to think before I speak. Harsh words don’t produce sweet, nourishing fruit. These seeds will require thoughtful care in the garden. I see some Volunteer seeds. Those extra hours I tend to fritter away are going to be planted in a useful project.   It looks like time isn’t wasted in this garden plot. Next are some Love seeds—the directions are interesting: get up each day and love others. No specifics are given—just do something for someone every day. The seed package shows pictures of smiling faces. I smile back. As I’m ready to head to the garden with my seeds, a package falls to the ground. I open it. Inside are the tiniest seeds I’ve ever seen—but the directions s...
Read more