The Day I Ran Away
Storm Outside, Storm Within
Storm Outside, Storm Within
Mentors.
They show up unexpectedly and leave footprints on our souls.
They are the unsung heroes—the ones who give until their hearts ache, and then keep right on giving.
Because it’s WHO. THEY. ARE.
Mentors have woven their way through my life like a tireless loom—threading in compassion, courage, and humanity, guiding me toward who I was meant to be.
It All Began with Mrs. E., 3rd Grade, South Whidbey Elementary, Langley, WA
Our family of 10 had just made the big move from Seattle, Washington, to a 9-acre farm on Whidbey Island. For a child who didn’t yet realize how much change could unsettle her, this marked the beginning of some very challenging days.
We moved in early January, and Day 1 at my new school got off to a rough start. I had no idea how to complete the worksheet in front of me. In full stress-mode fashion, I crumpled the paper and threw it in the garbage. Problem solved.
I put my head down on my desk as tiny tears began to form. That’s when I heard the shuffle of Mrs. E.’s feet approaching. She picked up the destroyed worksheet, smoothed it out on my tear-stained desk, and sternly said:
“I’m not sure how things were done at your old school, but we DO NOT crumple papers and throw them into the garbage.”
As she walked away, I was already planning my escape—when, either by divine intervention or a simple twist of fate, the power surged and the classroom went completely dark.
Running Away
Without hesitation, I bolted out the door and ran as fast as my traumatized mind and body would carry me. A large storm was swirling around the island. I was wearing a dress with no leggings on a cold, blustery morning—not exactly ideal for a getaway.
I managed to run the first mile toward home, choosing one of the only two directions available: east or west. As my eight-year-old legs churned like they were on fire, I turned a corner and saw one gigantic mountain of a hill looming ahead.
This particular road offered no ditch for cover. As I began the long trek up the hill, a car slowed and pulled over. To my surprise, brother #4, William, stepped out and walked toward me.
It never occurred to me until much later that William was pulled from class on his first day to rescue his little sister—and might not have appreciated doing so.
He approached with deep compassion—one of his specialties—and gently asked:
“Lis, what are you doing?”
The question jolted me to the core.
I paused, gave it some serious thought, and replied,
“I’m running away from school.”
William, wisely, didn’t try to convince me to go back.
Instead, the school secretary drove us home.
Home Sweet Home—but Not for Long
This was one of those times when having five older brothers proved extremely helpful. Brother #1, Mark, who had recently graduated high school and was working on the farm, was home when we arrived. He, too, was incredulous that I had run away.
But instead of scolding me, he headed straight for the coveted Oreo cookies and milk for comfort—and for the first time, I thought maybe things might be okay.
That was, until The Mama arrived. With few words and zero fanfare, I was 100% sure I’d be going back to Mrs. E.’s classroom in the morning.
I felt embarrassed when Mrs. E. knocked on our front door later that afternoon. She was kind—perhaps even feeling a bit guilty for having been so stern with me.
That winter afternoon, I didn’t know Mrs. E. had a husband and two daughters waiting at home. Yet she took the time to check on me and make sure I had made it home safely.
What began that day was a lifelong relationship. I went on to have a delightful 3rd-grade experience, learning how to act accordingly in a small-town school—where folks care if you run for home in the middle of a storm.
15 Years Later
Fifteen years passed. I had nearly completed my degree in education—only student teaching remained. When I heard that student teaching with Mrs. E. might be an option, I seized it. The idea of teaching 3rd grade alongside my former 3rd grade teacher felt serendipitous—beyond anything I could have possibly imagined.
We spent four glorious months teaching 3rd grade together. The experience was supposed to last two months, but the supervisors weren’t paying close attention, so we stretched it to four.
Mrs. E. cared for her students like a mama bear with her cubs. I watched as she slowly, gently, and carefully released control, handing her treasured charges over to me—a gift beyond measure.
I soaked up every detail of how to function as a professional educator. She graciously stepped aside so I could fly solo, wings of knowing unfolding.
Only years later did I realize how difficult it must have been for her to step away from her life’s calling to make space for me.
Over the span of my 34-year career in public education, there’s no way to adequately thank Mrs. E. We exchanged holiday cards for many years and even had a few meetups along the way.
What I Learned from My Mentor
There were so many lessons piling up upon one another, but these are the ones that remained steadfast, firmly rooted in the inner workings of my mind.
Relationship Building: Connecting with students in ways that are genuine, authentic, and real is the most important aspect of any classroom.
Organization: Paramount to success. If you don’t fill every second with meaningful learning, children will absolutely find ways to fill that time themselves.
Knowledge: As you grow, so do your students. The depth and breadth of your knowledge become the building blocks of the classroom.
Leadership: Lead with compassion, grace, and kindness. Always find ways to nurture and bring out the passions your students hold dear.
Structure: Provide the framework, then allow creativity to thrive. When children feel safe and nurtured, they’re more likely to take risks, challenge themselves, and grow beyond their wildest dreams.
With inspiration comes learning and growth. You’ll witness your students becoming their best selves—right before your eyes.
In just four months, Mrs. E. paved the way for my lifelong career in education—and earned a place of honor deep within my heart.
And there were other mentors.
So. Many. Others.
And Now I Ask You…
Who inspired you to become your best self?
Was there a time in your life when you felt alone? Abandoned?
Who showed up for you then?
Did someone teach you a skill that helped you fulfill your goals and dreams?
12 Ways to Thank a Mentor
Mentors shape us in countless ways, and expressing gratitude can deepen that bond or honor their memory. Here are 12 heartfelt ways to say thank you, whether your mentor is still with you or watching from afar.
If they’re still living:
Invite them for tea, coffee, or lunch—and take a real-time stroll down memory lane.
Send a letter or email sharing three special memories from your time together.
Mail a postcard with something poignant or memorable they can place on the fridge.
Surprise them with a phone call and share one lasting lesson.
Ask them to share their life story and publish it on Substack or another platform.
Send a simple, meaningful gift.
Help someone the way they helped you—then tell them you did it in their honor.
Create a handmade card with a heartfelt note.
If your mentor has passed away:
Write a letter and release it to sea in a bottle.
Send a letter to their relatives.
Host a campfire storytelling night in their honor.
Visit their family and share the impact they had on your life.
The Power of Thank You
I write this post with an open heart and hopeful spirit.
May there be a collective and universal thank you—a heartfelt SHOUT OUT—
to mentors around the world who have given their hearts, minds, spirits, time, and energy
So freely,
and so often—
with love,
with grace,
with compassion.
So that others
can find their truest selves—
arise,
go forth,
and become more than they ever dreamed,
in their wildest imaginings—
and beyond.
We all have someone who saw us, believed in us, and made a difference. If a mentor helped shape your path, I’d be honored to know who they were.
*This story is true. I changed all sibling names to respect their privacy.
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An inspiring tale. You must have been a great teacher, Lis. I’m sure you did Mrs E proud.