The notice from the school arrived in the afternoon mail. She felt dismay and fury; she wanted to smash her son's record collection and hug him defensively at the same time. "Unless your son tutors intensively during spring holidays there is every indication he will fail French for the year."

Laziness, that's what it is. He won't apply himself, won't stick with it and memorize and there's no other way to get French. Memorize irregular verbs. Maybe my whole approach to him has been wrong, I probably haven't disciplined him. Fourteen and failing French! It's too many friends, and playing his music all the time; we don't make him study enough. Never have made him study really; but good grief, how do you make someone learn?

She mused while preparing dinner, and when the boy came home she poured out all the thoughts that had bubbled in her mind since the mail had come. The boy had nothing to say; silence was his only defense. Being honest, he inwardly agreed with all her reasoning. He didn't study enough, though he had tried. But it was a rough course: he had started the school late in the fall, and was always behind even with occasional help from his mother.

His problem was interest; how could you be interested in memorizing stupid irregular verbs, spelling that made no sense, and picky points of grammar? What did the subjunctive of the verb "to be" have to do with his life?

Dinner was grim.

"One thing is certain. Your hosteling trip this vacation isn't very relevant to passing French, and it will have to give way for some pretty strong study time." She disliked canceling plans the boy had been making for months, but clearly he had to learn some lessons, and not just French!

His dad said, "I don't think we should buy his way out of this. Why should we pay for a tutor to help him do work that's his responsibility? There's nothing wrong with his intelligence and capacity. It's his schooling, his subject, his problem. He's got to learn to discipline himself!"

She agreed, but fearfully. He might fail. He might really fail. She kept mulling over the idea of lessons to learn. Something more important than pass or fail was at stake, more basic than irregular verbs or even discipline.

I'm reacting in anger and fear. Bad combination. There's something better that can direct us. Not my mind, not the way I reason it should be handled. I'm not that sure my way is sound. It will have to be Mind; Mind knowing all, Mind being the intelligence of man.

During the night and the next long day one fact stood out in her thinking: the oneness or unity of God and man. She thought about Mrs. Eddy's statement, "Principle and its idea is one, and this one is God, omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent Being, and His reflection is man and the universe." ^{Science and Health, pp. 465, 466;}

Our son can't be a discouraged idea of God. Or a failing idea. Or a confused idea. He is the complete idea of God, inseparable from divine Principle. The problem and the solution are one in the fact of Mind's allness. I don't have to be afraid of failure, or willful about the precise form of success. This is the real discipline of Christian Science: accepting Mind's purpose to gather and express its own ideas.

She felt no more anxiety. They decided to compromise about vacation time. Another boy was involved in the hosteling plans, and it didn't seem just to cancel and disappoint him. Their son would spend one week at home, studying, and the other week hosteling. He suggested helping his mother with chores around the house if she would help him review and build up his French.

He worked conscientiously. She was impressed with his good-humored acceptance of her strict tutorial demands and considerable household chores. He was caring. She was aware of feeling relieved of responsibility. She felt the depth of Christ Jesus' words, "Not my will, but thine, be done." ^{Luke 22:42.}

During the week of hosteling he called home. "Marvelous time, terrific country, beautiful weather. Mom, can I bring some friends home for the weekend? We met them at a hostel. Two from Belgium; one from America, an exchange student. Everybody is speaking French. It's neat!"

The weekend was wonderful, and the friends genuine and lovable; laughter and lots of French. Interest in French and the relevance of irregular verbs suddenly loomed in the son's consciousness. Nor did they fade. Back at school he pursued what was now important to him, not for marks but for the practical goal: proficiency.

"I asked my teacher if she'd give me practice in conversation after school and more in class. She said she would."

"Not my will, but thine, be done."

"I got a good mark in a French essay. And a letter from Francois."

Principle and idea are at one.

"Mom! Guess what—I got B plus in my final French exam!" Principle and idea are at one.