I received this wonderful article from my friend Bill O'Halloran in Alaska

and had to share it with you. I am not Catholic but a Catholic nun wrote this

moving story about her teaching a young man in school.

"He was in the first grade class at Saint Mary's School in Morris, MN.

All 34 of my

students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in

appearance, but he also had that happy-to-be alive attitude that made even his

occasional; mischievousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that

talking without permission was not acceptable, What impressed me so much,

though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for

misbehaving. 'Thank you for correcting me, Sister!' I didn't know what to

make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many

times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too

often, and then I made a novice teacher's mistake, I looked at Mark and said,

'If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!' It wasn't ten

seconds later when Chuck blurted out, 'Mark

is talking again.' I hadn't asked any of the students to help me discipline

Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to

act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my

desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape.

Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape

and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of

the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me.

That did it!!!! I started laughing and the whole class cheered as I walked

back to Mark's desk to remove the tape. His first words were, 'Thank you for

correcting me, Sister!'

At the end of that year, I was asked to teach junior high math. The

years flew by and before I knew it, Mark was in my classroom again. He was

more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully

to my instruction in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as

he had in third.

One Friday, things didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new

concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated

with themselves, and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness

before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other

students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each

name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each

of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class

period to finish this assignment, and as the students left the room, each of

them handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said 'Thank you for teaching

me, Sister. Have a good weekend.' That Saturday I wrote down the name of each

student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said

about that individual.

On Monday, I gave each student his or her list. Before long the entire

class was smiling.

'Really?' I heard whispered. 'I never knew that meant anything to anyone!' 'I

didn't know that others liked me so much!'

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they

had discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter.

The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with

themselves and one another again. That group of students moved on.

Several years later after I had returned from summer vacation, my

parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the

usual questions about the trip, the

weather, etc. There was a lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a

sideways glance and simply said, 'Dad?' My father cleared his throat as he

usually did before saying something important. 'The Eklunds called last

night. Mark was killed in Vietnam. The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents

would like it if you could attend.' To this day I can still point to the

exact spot in Highway I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.

I have never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked

so had some, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, 'I would give

all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.' The church

was packed with Mark's friends.

It was very difficult at the graveside. The pastor said the usual

prayers, and the bugler player played taps. One of those who loved Mark took

a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last

one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as

pallbearer came up to me and asked, 'Were you Mark's math teacher? Mark talked

about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's

farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there obviously waiting

for me. 'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out

of his pocket. 'They found this on Mark when he was killed in Vietnam. We

thought you might recognize it.' Opening the billfold be carefully removed two

worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and

refolded many times. I knew without looking what they were. Mark's mother

said, 'Thank you so much for that, As you can see, Mark treasured it.' Mark's

classmates began gathering around us and started pulling out THEIR worn out

copies of the list of names. Vicki said, 'I think we ALL saved our lists.'

That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all the

friends who would never see him again, but I thanked the Lord that he and his

calssmates had been loved and

complimented by those around them. The human element of school and community

and

being loved came out so vividly."

As you know I was an Army chaplain for 22 years. As we celebrated

Veterans' Day this

past Wednesday, November ll, and as we wait for the decision about bombing

Iraq for

UN Inspection Violations, the role of soldiers, men and women, is very much in

my mind. The

reason they fought and are still fighting today is so vividly exhibited in

Mark's story - for the

love of country, for the love of school classmates, for the love of parents,

for the love of community. A soldier's sacrificial giving of his/her life is

an act of LOVE ABOVE ALL.

The Scriptures say, "Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his

life for his

friends."

Dr Knox Herndon is the Pastor of "His House Community Chruch" 193 Johnson Ave.

Fayetteville right behind the Mask Tire Co. off Jeff Davis Dr. Fayetteville.