Mrs. Hollub – The Teacher Who Wrapped Us in Kindness

When I look back over all my school years, one name still shines brighter than the rest: Mrs. Hollub. She taught in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s, and to this day she remains my all-time favorite teacher — the kind of teacher whose love settles in your heart and stays there forever.

She had a rare gift, not just for teaching, but for truly seeing her students. She took her time with every single child in her classroom. Not just the ones struggling, and not only the ones who stood out — each one of us mattered. She talked to us about our strengths, the little things she noticed we did well, and she encouraged those things until they blossomed. I still remember the day she looked at me with that gentle certainty and said I should be a writer. Hearing that from someone I adored at such a young age planted a seed that never stopped growing.

Walking into her classroom felt like stepping into a place where love lived. She greeted us each morning with a smile, a hug, and a warmth that wrapped around you like a quilt straight from grandma’s cedar chest. The tougher subjects were handled early in the day, but even then her patience never wavered. She made learning feel manageable — even safe.

And then came the part I waited for every single day.

Afternoons were fun — spelling bees, team games, laughter bubbling through the room. She mixed strong spellers with the ones who struggled so no one ever felt defeated or left behind. She wanted everyone to shine, everyone to feel capable.

And at the end of each day, she sent us out the door with a kind word — something personal, something encouraging, something that made you stand a little taller.

Years later, I learned that Mrs. Hollub was living with her daughter not far from me. The moment I heard, I felt that little tug — that nudge from the Lord — telling me to go. I’m so grateful I listened. I visited her and brought her a dozen red roses. Her daughter told me that many of her former students still came to see her, which didn’t surprise me at all.

She seemed happy to see me, and I had the chance to tell her what she meant to me — how she helped shape the writer I eventually became. Not long after my visit, Mrs. Hollub passed away. And I’ve held onto the comfort of knowing I went when I was prompted, and that I had the chance to thank her for the tremendous impact she had on my life.

Later, when our daughter and children came to live with us, I found myself reaching back to the memories she gave me. Bedtime became Boxcar Children time — one chapter a night if they were tucked in on schedule. I tried to read the stories the way she had, calm and steady, hoping to pass along even a sliver of her magic. Sometimes the boys begged for an extra chapter, and once in a while, I happily obliged.

Mrs. Hollub taught me far more than academics.
She taught me the beauty of words, the joy of stories, and the quiet power of encouragement.
She created a space where imagination could bloom.
She helped guide me onto the path of becoming a writer.

And even now, all these years later, I thank God for the day He nudged me to bring her roses.

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Final Thoughts

Who has influenced you in the way Mrs. Hollub did me? Did you have a favorite teacher? What made them your favorite?

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