Lessons from the Unintentional Faculty of Life

By W.C. Douglas

As I approach the final editing pass of my dissertation—a journey that’s been equal parts grit, grace, and gallons of coffee—I’m been reminded again how education isn’t limited to the school classroom. Life itself has a way of assigning pop quizzes in humility, patience, and character, often taught by folks who never applied for the job.

I call them unintentional teachers. You know the type: they show up with lecture notes of sabotage, teach without self-awareness, and usually grade on a curve that favors drama over dignity.

Some folks are walking masterclasses in what not to do. I salute them for sharpening my discernment—blessings in slightly irritating disguises.

Whispers don’t shake oak trees. Let the wind blow—I’m still rooted. And growing... especially that dissertation page count.

God hears what's said behind closed doors. Thankfully, He also hands out grace like extra credit.

Character reveals itself over time. Mine’s been tested, pressed, and prayed over—and somehow it’s still intact. Not perfect by any means, but intact.

So while some folks pass through our lives swinging their loud opinions like handbags in a clearance bin, others quietly hold their peace, speak the truth, offer encouragement, or simply lead by example. That’s the kind of person I aspire to be. 

As I cross the finish line on this dissertation, I do so with gratitude not just for scholarly mentors—but for the accidental instructors whose lessons weren’t always kind, but were always clarifying. It turns out that the faculty of life includes a wide range of personalities. I just prefer the ones who don’t grade with gripes.  Be blessed!  wcd