I mailed her an overnight delivery UPS package. Then I emailed her with an out-of-the-blue question.

“Can you meet me in two days for lunch?” “Package will be delivered to you by 4:00pm tomorrow. Open it before we meet.”

Two hours later I got her response. “Meet me at the deli in 2 days. 1:00pm sharp.”

For eighteen years she had been my teacher, my mentor, and eventually my colleague. She was one of the wisest people I knew.

We had visited that deli many times. And sure enough when I walked into that deli at 1:00pm there she was in a booth waiting for me. She had my package spread out in front of her and was using a lot of red ink as she marked up my project (manuscript) that would eventually become the first journal book in my trilogy for educators, HEART!.

As I walked over to the booth, I sensed some personal fear. What if she did not approve? There was a lot at stake. By then I had spent 2 years writing the chapters, organizing the framework, deciding the format, and style.

What if I was wrong?

I had a brief moment of quiet panic. And then just sat down, said hello, and acted as if everything was just great.

In that moment, I realized I wasn’t looking for her approval as much as I was looking for permission to continue.

I think I needed her encouragement that way. For me, she had always been a hope provider. An encourager when I had my own doubts about my skills as a teacher, leader, and writer.

And now I was attempting to write a book that was definitely different and highly vulnerable. I was a math teacher and leader, what business did I have writing a book about our heartprint on students?

I was writing a book not just about my story, but about the PLC voice and wisdom of my dying friend and mentor, Rick DuFour. It was a highwire act to get it right. What if I fall?

Yet, I trusted my friend’s wisdom. She was one of the smartest people I knew. She had a way of getting right to the heart of the matter, so to speak.

After we ordered lunch, she asked me one question. “Tim, why are you writing this book?” I hesitated for just a moment – you would think someone working on a project like this for over two years would have a quick answer – and then I said, “I want to give teachers hope.” And, I want to record Rick’s wisdom and voice, before he passes away.”

The silence between us was only interrupted by our server.

Finally, she said, “I have marked some pages, and I love the idea of a book on heart. That is so you. However, there is one major problem.”

At that moment my brain was racing.

Just tell me my problem!

She said, “Tim, your book must take care of the reader”

Meaning what, exactly?

Silence as I chewed on her words.

“If the reader cannot find their own voice, if they cannot feel seen through your stories, and the stories you tell about other educators, then the book will be a waste of their time and yours. They will not make it past chapter three. The she said:

The reader needs to write their own story about making decisions in the reality of today, toward the hope of a better tomorrow.

My immediate thought was that she is so correct. As a math teacher, my success was rooted in helping my students find their own voice as young mathematicians. As a school leader it was in helping my teacher teams to find their voice of hope. Self-efficacy at is best. Confident they could do it. Confident in the hope of success tomorrow.

It took me two more years to get Heart! published. The date the book was released was February 8^th, 2017. The same day my friend and mentor passed away. Sometimes life offers us strange twists and turns. A small light of hope wrapped inside sadness.

Our stories, after all, are still unfolding.

Stay tuned for On Hope Essay #2: Optimism Vs. Hope. That essay will be posted the week of September 5th!

—Tim Kanold  

This weeks’ On Hope essay question:

Where did hope quietly surprise you this week?

I’d love to read your On Hope reply to this essay or any of the others! Leave your reply in the space below. Thanks!