In fifth grade I picked up a habit of stealing from my classmates.  It’s frowned upon in any school, but especially my private Christian school where my mom worked for the high school principal.  There were three sections in my fifth grade class.  We would rotate classrooms for different subjects and then head back to our homeroom.  While we were visiting other classrooms I would stick my hand in the desk, pull out a treasure and stuff it in my book bag.  Once back in my homeroom, I would hide the item in my locker, take it home and claim it as my own.  It was the perfect plan.  I could get cool things even though my family did not have substantial incomes like the rest of my classmates (or so it seemed to my 5th grade self).

It was going swimmingly.  I don’t remember all of the things I took, but one of the bigger items was a blue and purple Kooshball.  I even had the audacity to play with it at recess in front of the kid who used to own it!  Other items were cool pens or the pencils that had stacking lead refills where you would take the lead capsule out of the bottom and have to reload it into the top of the pencil so the pencil was always full.

My reign as class thief came to stand still when I stole the wrong thing from the wrong person.  I had gotten too confident in my ability to pull off a flawless heist.  I stuck my hand into a desk and pulled out an amazing pencil case.  It was pink and had hidden compartments with pretty pencils and erasers.  It made it’s way into my bag and into my locker.  Mission complete.

Toward the end of the day our principal came into our room and asked me to put everything in my desk on top of my desk.  I didn’t panic.  I pridefully emptied my desk and thought, “How dumb does she think I am?  I wouldn’t put it in my desk!”  She then asked me to open my locker in front of the entire class.  I began to get a little panicked, but I walked back and showed her my locker.  “Please, open your book bag.”  I opened my bag and began to form my story.  She took the pencil case and escorted me to the hallway.  She asked me where I had gotten the case.  I told her it was gift from my mom (what was I thinking?) and even gave her the name of the store where my mom had purchased it.  She told me she would talk to my mom, but she didn’t believe my story.  She believed I had been stealing from other students and yet I did not feel any remorse.

As she talked I became more cemented in my story and even believed my sweet, law abiding mother would help cover up my crimes.  The principal let me know the range of consequences that could happen.  I could have been suspended or I might have a few days of detention.  When she was done with the list of possibilities, she asked to pray for me.  I agreed (I wasn’t a total monster) and she began to pray.  Toward the end of the prayer she prayed, “Lord, I pray that Sarah will become the woman of God that you want her to be . . . ”  Something changed in my heart that very minute.  I knew who God was.  I believe I became a follower of Jesus at the age of 4 with my parents in our living room, but just because I knew him doesn’t mean I perfect.  When she prayed for me, it made me aware that my actions had consequences that reached farther than myself.  I stopped stealing immediately and other than accidentally walking out of the store with an item of clothing in college I have never stollen again.

I learned about mercy that day.  My principal did not have to give me that gift, but she did.  She was very clear about what I deserved and what my punishment could be, but instead she decided to pray for me and let God do the rest.  He did.  He met me that day in the hallway in profound fashion.  I am so thankful that my principal took the time to reach my heart instead of just wanting me to change my behavior.  There are still behaviors I need to change, but because of that day, I know that God is merciful and cares deeply about my heart.  It is a lesson I needed and carry with me today.