Opening Up to Open Letters

Not too long ago, I noticed this thing called an open letter.  I’d never heard of one before, and found them to be more critical than encouraging, akin to Frank Costanza’s Festivus “Airing of Grievances.”  They popped up everywhere and became a new pet peeve of mine. 

This morning, as I putzed around my classroom in the quiet moments before the buses released my twenty-two energy balls, I felt down in the dumps.  I hate being a teacher some days.  Before I even begin, I’m behind the curve, unprepared, and frazzled.  The minute the kids arrive, there’s a tattling, a tummy ache, a lost backpack, and on rare occasions, a whispered true tragedy – like a parent who’s left town unexpectedly or a police incident that kept the student awake last night.  I don’t know anyone who could truly do this job on their own strength and I’m still wondering how I can better access God’s power. 

Two of my coworkers came in and shared similar feelings.  How do we keep up with the standards and expectations?  How do we have a moment to really process and think, or even prepare the needed materials?   These two are brilliant teachers.  If they’re feeling inadequate too, there must be others out there.

It’s time to embrace the open letter fad.  Here I go.

Dear Teachers,

You are doing well.  I am dang proud of you and I wish I had money to give you that was more closely aligned with the highly important, high quality work you do every day.  Also, you deserve lots more trust.  I trust you to teach well and use those instincts about your kids to best serve their needs.  Go get ‘em, and forget about anyone who says you aren’t doing enough.   Our world would be severely hurting if you quit.

Love, Brooke

Dear Mothers and Fathers,

You are doing well.  Your kids know you love them and it’s okay that you’re not perfect.  No one truly expects you to be.  There are no awards for the cleanest house or the kid who behaves best at the grocery store.  I would love to give you an award for reading to your child and leaving the dirty dishes in the sink.  Thanks for showing up for the big job of parenting, 24/7.  Your care and perseverance have an eternal impact.   This is kingdom work, worthwhile work.  I hope your child makes you smile today, even if it’s only because they’ve found a new way to get into the cupboard they’re not supposed to get into.  That kind of creativity should be celebrated, eh?

Love, Brooke

Dear Missionaries,

You are doing well.  You made a good decision when you packed up and left.  You made a good decision when you decided to stay.  Whatever level of language you’ve acquired by now, good for you.  Language and culture are pretty tough sometimes.  You can say tomato and that’s awesome.  I can’t say tomato in that language.  When your work looks more like praying and less like a Billy Graham Crusade, and you’re not sure how to put ‘results’ into your next newsletter, I’d like to celebrate with you.  Your prayers rock the spiritual climate of your new home.  Amazing things are happening and God is the one who does all the heavy lifting, so I’m excited about all we can’t yet see in those situations you’re praying about.  Thank you for being a fool for Christ, for putting your pride on the line and giving from your heart – when you want to, and when you’d rather be in the States eating pizza or holding your grandchildren.  I’m so glad you chose to be a missionary.

Love, Brooke

Dear Person Whose Job or Life Situation Never Comes Up in an Open Letter,

You are doing well.  Your life matters and your stage of life is an important part of God’s plans for you.  Whether you’re passionate or whether you’re bored out of your mind on a daily basis, I hope you are paying attention.  A lot of life is happening all around you and those folks need Jesus.  You could be their ‘Jesus with skin on.’  All those little details that you notice and take care of - - thank you for those.  All of those times you’ve questioned yourself and kept going toward what you believe God would have you do - - way to go.  That’s not easy.  Thank you for tithing from whatever comes in.  Thank you for treating your family with care.  Thank you for making eye contact with the grocery store clerk and asking about their day.  These things are not insignificant; they’re golden pieces of Christ in you.  The world needs you and I’m glad you are choosing to be where you are today.

Love, Brooke

Find Out Who You Are

I teach in a Spanish-speaking community and my students’ names reflect their heritage.  As I’ve gotten to know my students better, some of these have evolved into nicknames.  Estrella, which means “star”, is now “Star Girl”.  Esperanza is “Hope Girl” (are you seeing my pattern yet?).  Iris wanted a nickname too, so she started saying, “Mrs. Arkills, your Favorite Girl is here!”

A couple of Sundays ago, I was getting to know another woman on the prayer ministry team, and my students came up in the conversation.  I mentioned the nicknames as a funny anecdote and she saw it in a different way.  She believes God asks us to call out the good in people, the way He sees them.  After our chat, I felt inspired.  I went home and looked up the rest of my kids’ name meanings.  That week, I chose six names each day, and read the meanings to the class.  Then, the kids could tell that person how they see that meaning in real life.  Some meanings had to be interpreted a bit, like Edgar, who is “rich spear”.  I helped with those ones.  We tried to think of all the ways Edgar added good things / richness to our team. 

One day, a boy made some poor choices and lost some PE time.  He was sitting at his desk, just passing the time, and God gave me an idea.  This boy’s name means “brave”, so I asked him to look it up in the dictionary.    “Find out who you are,” I said.

“Faces pain or difficulty without fear,” he read out loud.  (Side Note:  way to be so eloquent, Children’s First Dictionary!)

“Whoa.  That’s pretty amazing,” I said, “Have you ever gone through something really tough and you weren’t afraid?”

“Yeah!  All the time!” he said, smiling, “Plus, my little sister is too afraid to do stuff and I have to do it for her.”

“Pretty cool!”

So now, if you were to visit our classroom, you’d meet “Brave Guy”, “Rich Guy”, “Clear Girl”, “Fairy Queen”, “Helper Dude”, and “Sadie Lady” (it’s fun when your name meaning rhymes with your name).

Whether it feels true right now or not, God tells us how He sees us.  Sometimes it fits with our name meaning and sometimes it’s deeper than that.  My name is a stream, but I once saw a bookmark that called me “refreshing one”.  I’d like to be someone who refreshes others.  I pray God will use me like He uses fresh water on the earth, to nourish what He’s planted, to bring satisfaction to people who are spiritually thirsty, …. all that good stuff.  I pray that my Brave Guy student will remember who he is whenever difficulties hit his life.  I hope he will be brave because God sees him that way, and maybe God wants to use this gifted boy in places where people are in pain.

Today, may God tell you who you are and may He bring those qualities to fruition for His good purposes.

Jesus' Measuring System

Five minutes into our Valentine’s Day hike, my heart froze.  We came to a decision point – which trail to take up the mountain?  I strained to see any semblance of trail on the impossibly steep hillside.  My eyes saw a wall, a barrier, an impasse, not a way forward.  Our friends’ two boys ran ahead to show me.  Yes, that narrow strip of gravel.  Now, I see. 

“Honestly, both ways freak me out,” I said in response. 

“Well, if both ways are equally scary, we might as well take the more direct way,” Todd concluded.

The boys took off, eager to climb.  I stayed behind and felt grateful for my large old-school Goodwill sunglasses hiding the tears that sprang to the surface.  My husband, Jeff, hung back with me, offering help.  As is often true, those we love most get a front row seat to our raw places.  While Todd and Suzy and their kids called out encouragement from above us on the trail, Jeff baby-stepped up the slippery gravel with me and my string of fear words, “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.  This is not a hike.  This is a rock climb.  I hate this.”                                   

The straight-up section over, I still could not look down without hanging on to Jeff.  My legs would lock up.  A flock of mountain sheep ran over the edge, startling at our presence and effortlessly racing far beyond us into safe shadows.  It made me think of a favorite allegory, Hannah Hurnard’s Hinds Feet on High Places.  I told myself, ‘God makes my feet like a deer’s.  He enables me to go up on the heights.” (2 Samuel 22:34)  

Everyone suggested small steps and to not think too far ahead.  Just focus on the step in front of you.  I put my head down, dug my hiking poles into the grassy crevices on either side of the trail, and followed the boys forward.  Jeff stayed right behind me.

There’s something thrilling about going farther than you think you can.  While I only made it to the false summit, not the true top, I was proud nonetheless.  I hadn’t headed back to the car in that first five minutes.  That was a personal trophy of sorts.  Still, looking out over the valley, rivers, and far off Cascades and Rainier, I knew I couldn’t avoid the steep return trip.  More trepidation crept in. 

Todd, Suzy, and kids had to get home for their youngest child, so they went ahead.  I went painfully slowly.  In fact, my knees started to burn with pain because I was slow enough to put all the pressure of my weight on them, step by step, instead of keeping lighter, quicker feet.  I hated feeling like I was about to slip and fall at any moment.  My whole body was so tense. 

After so long in this state, I became angry again.  

“This is not fun.  I hate feeling scared and I hate feeling like I’m going to fall.  I just want to walk normally.”  

I was grateful for Jeff’s hand of support and his patience, but I started to get upset about that too.  I don’t want to be the weak one, the slow one, the fearful one, the angry one.  Why am I dragging us down, and yet, how did I get into this psycho steep hike in the first place?  If I had known it would be so scary, I could have said no. 

As you may have guessed by now, we made it down the mountain and back home safely.  But I maintained my frustration at home.  I told Jeff how much I was afraid and embarrassed that I didn’t handle things better or stronger. 

Jeff looked at me and said, “That’s not how I measure your strength.”

We were both quiet after that.  Nothing else needed to be spoken.  The words resounded inside me, over and over.  That’s not how I measure your strength.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season leading up to Easter.  Jeff and I went to our church’s service where we were invited to write down our sins, fold up the paper, and actually nail it to a wooden cross.  We had our names on the outside, so the pastors and volunteers could say our names as they put our folded papers into metal buckets to burn for the ashes.  I wrote down “Fear.”

As I sat in the pew, listening to names and smelling the smoky smoldering papers, this thought came to me: ‘What would my life be like without fear?’

Fear so dominates my daily life, it’s very difficult to imagine life without it.  Actually, I feel afraid to live without fear.  Funny how it works that way.

It seems like such terribly hard work to give up fear.  I don’t know how to begin.  I don’t want to begin.  Fear hides me.  Fear excuses me.  Fear brings emotional attention from others, and I like feeling that importance and care.  

But, I’m sinning when fear overrides God’s truth in my life.  Looks like I'd better work harder to stop being afraid.

Then, my God whispered to me, “That’s not how I measure your redemption.”

For you know that it was not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down to you from your ancestors,  but with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or defect. (1 Peter 1:18 & 19).

Thank You, God, for the gift of freedom from sin.

Thank You, Jesus, for doing all the work to free us.

Thank You, Holy Spirit, for being more than enough to take me farther from sin and closer in relationship with my Creator.

Just when I think I know my reality, God reveals something deeper and better.  When I despaired of letting my husband down, it turned out that Jeff never doubted my strength, nor was he testing it on that mountainside.  When I go back to my belief again and again and again, that all of God’s good plans somehow revolve around my abilities, God shows me His Son. 

Whatever you’re dealing with tonight, please let God have it.  He measures your strength by Jesus’ work on your behalf.  IN JESUS, you are strong enough, pure enough, rich enough, healthy enough, free enough.  It is all about HIM.  Please let God be for you what you can never be on your own.  I’m right here with you, letting go of my fear crutch in exchange for whatever Jesus offers me.  It's scary right now, but it's going to be good in the end.  I just know it.