It is no easy task to mentor me. I don’t consider myself very teachable or malleable. After observing me during 23 years of marriage, my wife has identified and diagnosed my condition, which she has labelled “Youngest Child Syndrome.” Growing up a youngest child, with parents and an older brother telling me what to do and how to do it, and not always feeling heard myself, I became resistant to information and instruction being thrust upon me.
Good poker players would perceive my reaction to uninvited feedback, counsel, instruction or advice. My wife can read it, too. It is a face frozen into stony obstinacy caused by my internal reaction: “Don’t tell me what to do!”
Layer on top of this condition my perfectionist tendencies, a struggle to admit mistakes, a fear of being shown ignorant, and a fierce independent streak that resists asking for help, well, I figure that I am any potential mentor’s block of granite: dense, difficult to change and heavy to lift.
Despite all of this, I have nevertheless been shaped; or, call it mentored.
Chris led my youth group. He rarely told me what to do. Instead he walked alongside me, quite literally walked beside me. At least once a week throughout my teen years we’d go for a walk covering almost all of the streets in our small town. I had questions about my faith, questions about relationships, questions about life. Chris did more than just answer my questions. Chris also asked me endless questions, patiently chipping away at the sediment that was covering the beliefs and assumptions I held in my faith, in my relationships, in my leadership, and in the strategies I was using for the challenges I was facing.
He guided me through the articulation of my thoughts with a measure of detachment and objectivity that allowed me to get a look at myself, for myself. He would share the lessons he had lived, what he had learned, his experiences, and where he currently was on his own journey. He let me walk with him in places where he had walked.
I had started my teen years introverted and insecure. Phobic of class presentations or any situation where I was in front of others, I saw myself headed toward veterinary medicine because animals don’t talk. I wouldn’t have to either.
Chris saw another route for me. He saw potential for ordained ministry. I don’t know how he saw it. I certainly didn’t. The thought of preaching made me nauseous. He didn’t argue or persuade. He just kept walking with me. He shared the journey with me as I stepped into leadership roles in my congregation. He invited me to come work at the summer camp where he was on senior staff. With camp experiences, I began to believe I could lead and teach. I started to find my voice.
Ultimately I went to seminary and was ordained. It was a path I could walk because Chris had walked it first. He blazed a trail and then came back to meet me where I was so I could walk it with him. In walking with me and letting me observe and share his journey, Chris shaped my future, my beliefs about myself, and showed me that I could very well have an important role walking with others, and shaping others.
Jesus did a lot of walking with people. When he asked the disciples on the road to Emmaus what they were discussing, they stood still with their faces downcast; stony statues. I know that posture very well. But then after sharing that walk with Jesus, hearing him and seeing him, they were transformed into people with burning hearts.
Like Jesus, my mentors have been those willing to walk with me. A step at a time, they have shaped me and transformed me, until I could see Jesus walking with me. My mentors were able to change my stony stance and ignite my heart.
About Doug Schonberg
Doug Schonberg is minister at Chippawa, Niagara Falls, Ont.