THE  MAGNIFICIENT MENTOR

            The notice in the church bulletin read, “Anyone interested in writing, meet in room 312 on Tuesday night. Bring some writing to share.”

            My heart skipped a beat. I had prayed about how I might start to write about the experience our family had been through with our daughter and her spinal cord tumor. And now, here was an answer.

I had written poetry for twenty years, but few people had seen it. During Jennifer’s illness, I felt convicted that I should share my poetry and learn how to expand my writing horizons.

Tuesday night came. I entered room 312 with a handful of poems in my sweaty palm. Five of us seated ourselves around a table. Dan began by telling us that our pastor, Bob, suggested he start a writing group. Everyone introduced themselves. Although I knew some of the people personally, I didn’t know the leader, Dan.

At Dan’s invitation, each person read from their sheets. Finally, it was my turn. I took a deep breath and read one of my poems. The other members offered words of encouragement and a few suggestions how I might change a word or two.

At the end of the evening, at other’s urging, Dan read. When he finished, silence. No one moved. His words, beautifully crafted.

The next day, I shared with someone about the group and the reaction to Dan’s work.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” my friend said.

“Why is that?”

“Dan Quisenberry’s quite a poet. That’s not all. He’s a super pitcher for the Royals, too.”

I stood in stunned silence, then whispered, “A pitcher for the Royals? But he writes such beautiful poetry!”

“Didn’t you know who he was?”

“I don’t pay much attention to sports. Come to think of it, I have seen him once or twice on TV.”

Over the next few months, I didn’t miss a Tuesday night. I was like a new baby duckling and Dan was my Mama duck. After several months, he arranged a poetry reading at church on a Sunday afternoon. I’d never read publically before.

Dan said, “Nothing to it. Just get up there and read. You’ll do great.”

A few months later, someone asked Dan after church if he would write a poem for our new flagpole dedication. Dan turned to me and said, “I don’t have the time right now, but this gal can do it.”

My heart was in my throat. I’d never written a commissioned poem before. Bolstered by Dan’s confidence in me, I prayed and asked God for a suitable poem. He gave me this:

OLD GLORY

Look to me and remember well

The days gone by and those who fell,

Giving their lives for freedom’s sake

Knowing their sacrifice was no mistake.

Look to me and remember the present.

Pray for each and every resident

Who lives in this great land of ours

That by God’s grace we’ll be empowered.

Look to me; remember those yet to come

Who’ll stand in our stead and march to the drum

Of a land established for God’s glory;

A place of freedom to share His story.

            Not long after the dedication, doctors determined Dan had a brain tumor. Our Tuesday meetings stopped, but not before he coached me about other writing groups in the area. It was a sad day when I had to bid farewell to my friend and mentor; the one who pushed me out of my comfortable nest. If it hadn’t been for Dan, I may never have shared the gift God gave me.