Was over visiting my folks one autumn morning, and Ray stopped by to borrow Dad’s car. Dad and Ray became friends when Dad served on the town board and met Ray, who worked for the sewer department. Ray’s one of those eminently useful men it pays to know if you need something done — from getting a raccoon out of your attic to nosing out the most likely spots for morel mushrooms to setting off the town fireworks on the Fourth of July. In a specialist world, Ray’s a generalist, which inclines me to think well of him. The problem today is that too many folks know a lot about a thing or two, but not enough folks know a little about a lot of things. If you don’t believe that, just try to find a doctor who’ll mend your feet and your nose in the same visit.
Ray started working for the town when he graduated from high school. College was out of the question, it costing money and Ray not having any. Instead, he married his high school sweetheart. They settled into a small house outside of town and slipped into the lifestyle Ray had come from — work, raise your kids, hope they turn out right, and pray to Jesus that Social Security is still around when you retire. And every now and then, lie awake at night frustrated that your kids can’t have the same things the doctor’s children have.
Ray and his wife had a first-born daughter who hit school like a cyclone. Made straight A’s, which startled the teachers, she being Ray’s daughter. It wasn’t that Ray lacked enthusiasm for learning; he just wasn’t one to let school get in the way of his education. His interests lay elsewhere. I’m that way myself. Took me to eighth grade to figure out that algebra wasn’t a line of Playtex undergarments.
Ray’s daughter kept up her grades. Out-hustled the doctor’s kid to become the class valedictorian. But the halls of Harvard don’t overflow with sewer-worker offspring, so she was trying to get used to the idea of a career in fast food. Then a college in Ohio, scouting around for smart kids with gumption, offered her a free education, and her dream of being a psychologist drew closer. So she went to Ohio, and Ray; whose truck kicks up a fuss when driven past the county line, borrows my dad’s car once a month to go visit his daughter, of whom he is fiercely proud.
I don’t think she’s under much pressure.
There’s a heap of people pulling for that young lady. Lots of folks who stop Ray on the street to ask how she’s doing. When she went to Ohio, she carried a passel of expectation with her. If she fails, the entire town will lose its will to live. Other than that, I don’t think she’s under much pressure.
Some people would crumble under her heavy weight of expectation. But what would crush others seems only to enliven her. What I’m betting is that ten years from now she’ll be charging a doctor’s kid two hundred dollars a session to help get his head on straight. He’ll moan about how his parents expected too much, and she’ll tell him to grow up and get a life — in a therapeutic way, of course, and with appropriate sensitivity. Then the next time she sees her dear old parents, she’ll give them a hug and whisper, “Thanks for believing in me.”
She’s learning early on what takes most of us a whole lifetime to uncover — that expectation is a blessing, not a curse. It’s a beautiful thing when people expect something decent of you. It means you’ve given them reason for confidence. Like when John the Baptist was born and his father sang a beautiful song about all the things his boy would do. Then his boy went out and did them.
Many a powerful life has its start in expectation.
Philip Gulley is a Quaker pastor who ministers in Indianapolis. He is married and has two preschool sons. In addition to pastoring and writing, Gulley enjoys spending Sunday afternoons in his hometown.
Title: "Expectation"
Author: Philip Gulley
Publication Date: August 24, 2000
Expectation
