Dear friend,
Much like last week—when I was torn between work and home—I find myself returning to you once again. This time, straddling our modern culture and the lived reality in which I find myself. They tell drastically different stories.
What if your everyday life is more stable than the story you’re being sold?
What if decency and goodness are more common than we’re led to believe?
What if the loudest narratives about families, faith, and culture don’t actually match the reality on the ground?
And what if the greatest danger isn’t what’s happening out there, but the filter distorting what’s happening right in front of us?
This is not a manifesto. It’s an accounting of what I can see with my own eyes.
So, the veil is coming down. Here’s the real reality of our world:
Today at the store, Georgia made eye contact with the checker, smiled, complimented her sweater, and engaged in a bit of small talk. I’ve been working with our children on speaking with strangers, lest they become incapable of such a task. Though small talk often gets a bad rap, it is a cornerstone of a polite, engaged society. Children are capable of this—and so are adults.
While national literacy rates drop and the Washington public school system seems to be collapsing before our eyes, Stuart just walked ten teenagers through four medieval works of challenging literature. Over the past months, they’ve been immersed in Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Dante’s Inferno, and Macbeth. They’ve consumed, processed, and understood “harder” literature than the majority of modern adults. In reality, I see an incredibly literate and thoughtful generation. To shoulder a different reality would be to live untrue to our own community.
Likewise, people here are kind to one another—even when they are different. They let each other merge into traffic, bring one another boxes of apples, say hello on the sidewalk, and generally speak with respect and decency toward strangers. People want to help, and they jump in to do so. I’ve yet to witness a different reality in person.
The amount we pay in taxes as small business owners in Washington makes my eyes bleed—and yet, in reality, we are able to pay our mortgage and enjoy many fruitful blessings. After years of saving, this past weekend, we were finally able to upgrade our car. We have refrigerators and freezers full of food, a modest savings, a bountiful library, a small piece of land, gas in our tanks, and a warm, safe bed to lie in at night.
While visiting my 96-year-old great-aunt last weekend, she told me stories from her teenage years. She lived in another family’s home, tending to their little ones and helping with cooking and cleaning. Her pay was $5 a week. With her earnings, she bought clothes for her younger brothers. My grandpa—Aunt Marilyn’s brother—was one of thirteen children. “Times were simpler then,” we like to say. Yet in reality, siblings were shipped off to war, the supper pot could end up empty, and my great-grandmother would (apparently) pound nails aggressively into the back of the barn to vent her sadness and frustration. In truth, it seems being human has always been hard work, no matter the age.
Yesterday, Stuart brought me a latte as I labored over work in the office. I didn’t ask—he anticipated my need and met it. This is the man who watched me give birth four times; as I anguished and broke, he stood steadfast—a lighthouse in the storm. In my lamentations, he listens quietly. In my triumphs, he joins me in celebration. His yes means yes, his no means no, and he makes me laugh like crazy. His eyes are always subtly trained in my direction, making sure I am safe and well. He spoons me at night, saves action movies for when I’m asleep, and is as faithful as the sun.
Modern culture tells me to hate men—that they are bumbling, spineless idiots. It encourages me to be a “boss babe,” to be a “strong, independent woman,” to “be my own soulmate.” H-e-l-l no.
Here is my reality: I am married to a man I deeply respect and cherish. He is honorable. And here’s the even wilder truth—I know many men like him: respectable, honest, faithful, intelligent, considerate. Imagine that.
It gets even wilder.
In reality, our children respect us—not because we strong-arm them, but because we have raised them with intention, compassion, and clear boundaries.
In reality, if we had no technology in our home, we wouldn’t know—or experience—100% of what the media assures us is going to end the world.
In reality, we were both raised in Christian households, and we’re both fine.
In reality, if we stopped sharing our lives online entirely, our life itself wouldn’t change. It’s exactly what you see here (perhaps with a few more swear words on hard days).
Our pastor often reminds us not to kiss our spouse through a screen door. Instead, open the door and go in for the real thing. Likewise, it feels essential to remove the screen that warps how we see our own reality.
We can be through fighting the invisible enemies we’re told exist.
My dad is a retired juvenile probation officer who spent his career caring for those living in far harsher realities. He often shared stories from his caseload—circumstances that would put you on your knees in gratitude. And yet, there he was, faithfully working within that reality to steady their footing and offer an anchor. We’d often run into his former kids around town; many would rush up to greet him with a hug. Their lives were painful, but they were not without hope.
And neither is ours.
Our reality has not been free of sin or sorrow. But it is filled (nay, overflowing) with more goodness, provision, and grace than we often notice. Perhaps the work before us is not to escape our reality, but to finally see it clearly…
…and give thanks.
Love,
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