A Letter to My Ten Year Old Son Upon The Election of Donald Trump To The Office of President

I wrote this letter back in November and held onto it because I felt like it sounded a bit alarmist. I opened it again just a couple of weeks ago and I was surprised to discover that I’m not sure it’s alarmist enough. I’m sharing it now because I want all my children to understand my heart about the rhetoric of our current president. I want them to join me in grieving the state of our nation. We are having a lot of conversations at our house about racism and hateful words as people around us ask what on earth is happening in America, so this letter reflects this dialogue that has been happening in our house for a while now. 

November 2016

Dear Simon,

This week you said to me:

Donald Trump won? What does that mean?

Does it mean we can’t go back to America?

And as I was pondering how to answer, I was also wondering what was going on inside your ten-year old brain.

And before I could form my reply, you said something about a wall.

People keep talking about walls being built.

Oh, yes. There has been a lot of talk about walls.

About divides. There are a lot of divides in our country.

There is a big deep chasm right down the middle that seems impossible to cross.

So I said to you.

Do you think a wall will go up that will keep us out of America? That will not happen. We are citizens and holders of American passports, so yes, we can go back to America whenever we want.

But I guess the question is,

When there are walls going up, when so many people are divided by hostility, do we want to go back?

Of course you said,

Oh yes, I want to go back.

I knew your answer before you said it. There is no president that can come between you and your love for America.

I understand how you feel. I, too, love America. In fact, being an expat makes me love our country more. In big ways like I miss a hecka lotta people who are crazy important to me and in small ways like how I think American central heat and air is the eighth wonder of the world.

But this election means I have to ask.

Do I want to use my privilege to return to a country that is projecting the message that we, as Americans, do not value all of God’s people?

Simon, do you remember a few weeks ago when we made you watch that movie about how white people in America have treated (and continue to treat) black people? It was called 13th, because it was about the 13th amendment.

Remember how you covered your eyes and cried and begged us to turn it off because seeing that much hate for our black brothers and sisters was just too much.

It was too painful.

But the most painful thing is that the hate that we saw in that documentary, that horrible hate still lives in the hearts of many white people in the United States.

In fact, because our country was founded by white men who believed that they were fundamentally better than black people, they have handed all of us a legacy of hate. Even if we think we are not haters, we cannot help but have inherited some of the ideas that have spread this hateful idea that white people somehow deserve to have more than black and brown people.

You know what I mean by black and brown people, right? I’m talking about the folks that were in that documentary we watched. I’m talking about people who are from Mexico or from other Latin American countries. I’m talking about Muslim people like the ones in your international class who came here to escape wars in their own countries.

Well, I don’t know if you know this, but Donald Trump said a lot of horrible things about black and brown people while he was running for president.

There are a lot of people who don’t want black and brown people to feel welcome in America who supported Donald Trump for president. Elections are complicated and there are people who voted for Donald Trump for other reasons, but still, the reality is that too many Americans agree with the meanest of his statements.

So imagine that this morning when you woke up and found out that Donald Trump was president, if you were a black person or a brown person, how would it make you feel to discover that your country elected a president who encourages that kind of hate towards someone who looks like you?

Terrified.

Really scared.

Super sad.

Mad.

You would be wondering which people hate you.

If you were an immigrant from another country you might be afraid that you will have to leave the United States.

And even if you don’t have to leave, you might not feel welcome. You might feel like people don’t want you around.

I know you know how that feels. Because we are expats, we have been living in other countries where we don’t belong. We are outsiders. We do not feel at home.

Do you remember when we lived in Scotland what it took for us to finally feel at home? It was not until we made friends who were Scottish, people who welcomed us into their homes and let us know that they were glad we lived in their country.

Can you imagine how we would have felt if people never did welcome us? If we had lived in Scotland for three years without making any Scottish friends?

What if when we went to the store in Scotland, people said things to us like, “Go home!” or “Get out of our country!” or “We don’t want people like you here!”

Do you think we would have felt at home in Scotland if that had happened?

I know what you are thinking. You would tell me that if we were not welcome, we could just go back home. We could go back to Arkansas, where we are always welcome.

And yes. That is true. We will always be welcome in Arkansas.

(That’s called privilege by the way.)

But what if there was a war in Arkansas? What if our home had been bombed and we could not go back without risking our lives?

Or what if there was a famine back home and there was nothing to eat? What if going home meant we were in danger of starving?

Or what if a group of people back home decided that they wanted to kill us because of the church we belong to, or because we are mixed race family or because we love Jesus?

What if we could not just “go home?”

What if, like many of the people in your class at school, we were wandering the earth, broken-hearted because we could not go home, but also trying to make a life for our family in a new country…only to wake up and discover that the new country does not want us?

That the new country actually hates us?

What would that feel like?

We would cry and moan and ask God WHY?

We would wonder why the world feels this way towards us?

Why is the divide so great between us and others?

Simon, your father has been telling you something about politics since before you were old enough to understand words – he has been saying that it does not matter who is president. It doesn’t matter because both parties are controlled by big business.

Again, if you remember watching 13th, you will recall that they explained how this is true. Every president helped to pass laws that were written by a company that was being paid by corporations who would benefit financially from those laws.

All the presidents for all of time have bowed down to the idols of capitalism.

So, yes, in one sense your father is right. It doesn’t matter who is president.

But in another sense he is wrong, because the face of the president of the United States is representative of our county – not just to the world – though that is important too – but also to the people who live in America.

This is the reason I broke with our family habit of voting third party candidates to cast my ballot for Barack Obama (twice). It was not because I thought Obama could “save America.” Lord, help me the day I am fooled into thinking that the representative of a large machine (Democrat or Republican) will turn on that machine and suddenly become the champion of the poor, the oppressed and the prisoner. No, I voted for Obama because I wanted the black kids at your school to turn on the television and see that the highest office in our country could be held by someone who looked like them. I wanted Americans (you included!) to look into the face of our president and be encouraged and proud of the fact that we elected an African-American president. I wanted us all to see the black man on the news who was president. I still believe that the greatest gift Barack and Michelle have given our country is their gracious presence as a black family in the White House. There is no policy that can outweigh the uplifting effect of Obama’s being the face of our country over the last eight years for all of us, but especially for minority children.

If you were older, maybe you would ask me if I believe that Hillary’s face would have been a great encouragement in that same way for young women? To that I would have to say, no. The hope of her presence in the White House did not compel me to break from voting a third party candidate this year.

But even so, I would not have chosen over Hillary the face of someone who is willing to say out loud that he does not value all people. 

But that someone is now the president-elect. Donald Trump will be the face that we see on the news for the next four years representing our country.

And so, Simon, what are we supposed to do when so many people that we know and love are having to wonder if they are welcome in America?

When someone who looks like you and me is telling our brothers and sisters that they are not welcome, we cannot stay quiet.

We have to figure out ways to say again and again that we need our African American friends in the United States. We need people from all over the world. We need immigrants and refugees.

Simon, I want you to grow up in a country where everyone is welcome.

I want you to grow up in a country where policemen protect people of color.

I want you to be a part of a country where the refugees find refuge. Where the prisoner is set free.

I want you to grow up in a country where the walls are coming down, not going up.

In this world of great divides, I want you to be a builder of bridges.

Right now you are living a life as an outsider. We talk funny and we don’t understand the systems and we puzzle our way through most days. It is exhausting and discouraging and sometimes it feels pointless.

But Simon, I’m asking you to pay very close attention.

You are learning how to stand in the shoes of the alien.

One day you may find yourself on the inside in America again, but if you have been watching, you will have learned how walls get taken down between the insiders and the outsiders.

And, oh my son, you are going to need those skills.

America will need you use them.

Because there will be many walls to tear down.

Here’s a verse to remember when you need encouragement in this good work of tearing down walls:

For he himself is our peace, who has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility     

– Ephesians 2:14

Love you so much,

Mama

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A Letter to My 15 Year Old Son Who Traveled With Me To Lake Constance

Dear Ben,

I am sorry that I give you such a hard time for cracking eggs all over the counter in the kitchen.

And for throwing your clothes on the floor. And your backpack. And your shoes.

I am sorry for the way I respond when you’ve been on the computer for one hundred and sixteen hours and you eyes are bloodshot from staring at little dots moving around the screen.

I am sorry for the way I focus on the clothes and the computer and the eggs when I should be saying how grateful I am for you.

Because you, my son, are the most wonderful company.

I am so thankful for how you embrace the adventures we have together.

I am so thankful that nine times out of ten, when someone says, “Who wants to go with me to do X?” that your answer is, “I will!”

Who wants to go with me to the store to help carry groceries?

I will.

Who wants to go for a walk with me in the woods?

I will.

Who wants to try this strange new gingerbread?

I do.

Who wants to walk down to the chocolate market and try all the samples again?

I do.

So when I asked you if you wanted to go with me for a few days to Lake Constance, for a little mother-son adventure by ourselves, I was not surprised that you were game.

And I just love that about you.

That you are game.

I think we’re going to take a bus.

Game.

I think we’re going to stay in hostels.

Game.

What do you think about going to this classical musical concert in the big cathedral in Constance?

Game.

Coffee?

Game.

Donor Kebab?

Game.

Pretty much any food?

Game.

You are a wonderful travel partner. You make everything more fun by being enthusiastic.

It’s unusual for you to complain. You’re super flexible. You can walk for ages and carry the heavy stuff, and if we happen to find ourselves in the woods after the sun sets or in a dark part of town, I kind of appreciate that all of a sudden you are becoming a young man, a fact I usually lament.

Thank you for going with me to this new place. For walking all over Constance and Meersburg and Lindau.

For sitting in the sun and reading together.

For long talks about language and living in Germany.

For longer walks along the lake and through the woods.

For sitting through a concert that was not so interesting to you.

For riding the ferry and looking for coffee shops.

For being willing to eat in restaurants and hostel kitchens and on park benches.

For all the ways you make life fun and point out the beauty of the world.

I love seeing it through your eyes.

And I’m grateful for many more days ahead of sharing new experiences with you.

I’m grateful that you are still with us. And that we are getting days together that are different from ones we have had before, because it is so often just the two of us, carrying apples and milk, stomping through the woods or exploring yet another Christmas market.

Thank you for being willing to say “Yes,” and for how you are teaching me to say it too.

Yes, you can build a gingerbread house.

Yes, you can play that game.

Yes, you can put that candle out with your fingers.

Yes, you can put that punch in the grocery basket.

Yes, you can order the pastry that is as big as your head.

Yes, we can stop and sit for a while.

Love you so much.

Mama

A few details in case you want to go to Lake Constance. We stayed in Constance/Konstanz at the most darling little hostel called Glückseeligkeit which translates to “bliss.” They only have five rooms but one is a family room and there is a fully stocked kitchen and living room/lounge for meals and such. Ben and I stayed in the attic room that had its own balcony and view of Konstanz. This hostel did not sponsor our trip in any way, but we loved it so I thought I would mention it. (In fact, we stayed in another hostel in Lindau that we did not like at all so we wished we’d spent one more night in ‘bliss.’) We spent three nights in the area and wandered around the towns of Konstanz, Meersburg and Lindau. At the end of October when we made this trip, it felt like much of the activity around the lake was closed up for the season. I think it would be fun to go when it is a bit warmer and bike at least part of the cycle path that goes all the way around Lake Constance (and covers three countries!) MacsAdventure has this tour available as one of their Germany adventures if you’re looking for a biking adventure in Germany. If you happen to go to Konstanz, a little coffee shop called elf (“eleven” in German) serves up the best coffee I’ve had so far in Germany, but unfortunately they don’t open until 11. 

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November 15, 2016

Dear Grace, Emily, Wilson, Campbell and Phineas,

Now that it’s been a few months since we all went camping together in Colorado, I have almost forgotten about the rain and the mosquitos.

I almost don’t remember the days of washing and drying a gajillion wet tents and sleeping bags that had mildewed after a week of rainy camping.

Today I am well rested because I slept in a real bed last night, so the mornings of waking up all stiff from sleeping on the ground are far, far away.

And now I can look back at pictures of our week together in the mountains and remember why our family loves to go camping with you.

In a world where we spend more and more of each day inside and on screens, camping forces us into a total reboot.

You have to be outside. There is no other option. Even if you hide in the car for a while, you can not stay there forever. Eventually, you have to get out. And when you are outside, for days and days strung together, you begin to do things naturally that in your regular life are not normal.

You run and shout and play with rocks and sticks and pinecones.

You are not just connecting to the earth. You are merging with it. You have it under your fingernails and between your toes and even in your food.

You are dirty with the earth and you do not mind too much.

You recognize and live within the rhythms of nature when you are outside all day. You notice when the sun comes up and when it sets, you come closer to rising and sleeping by it.

You play with fire. You find the wood, you build the fire, you tend the fire, you eat things you stick in the fire. You warm your dirty toes by the fire. You sit around it and listen to your Grandpapa tell you old, old stories.

Sometimes when you are camping in the mountains, especially with your Grandpapa and your Uncle Taido, you push your body further than you ever thought it could go.

You climb and climb and just when you think you cannot possibly go another step, you catch your breath and take a few more. You do this over and over until all of a sudden you are standing on top of a mountain and never in your life has the world ever been quite as beautiful as it is right in that moment. That moment, hard won with today’s sweat and tomorrow’s aches and pains, is only possible because you came on this camping trip.

You will carry that moment with you for far longer than the mildew smell of your wet tent or the itchy red bites on your skin.

I hope you will carry it for so long that it will compel you to go camping again one day.

I hope you will grow up and take your own children camping and carry on these wild traditions of spending your vacation days being outside together, telling the old, old story around the campfire and getting dirt under your fingernails.

Love you each so much,

Aunt Alison

PS. Here are a few of my favorite photos from this summer’s trip taken by Uncle Taido, me and your mama/Aunt Whitney.

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A Letter to My Friend Sarabeth about Advent Traditions and Celebrating Christmas in 2016

November 23, 2016

Dear Sarabeth,

When you texted me yesterday to ask me for ideas about Advent, I was in the middle of crying through the end of Ta-Nehisi Coate’s book Between the World and Me. 

I was sitting and wishing that the world could be different from the one that he describes in his book. The whole book is a letter to his fifteen year-old son, a son who is growing into a man. You and I are currently parenting boys who are becoming men. I have written many letters to my sons, especially to my oldest since he left home. I published one of those letters yesterday on my website. But today I am struck only by the fact that I won’t ever have to write words to my sons like those that Ta-Nehisi Coates wrote to his. Words like these:

 -from Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Today my son is driving to Arkansas for Thanksgiving. He is still new to driving and every time he makes a long drive, I get a little anxious. I hope he will make it home safely. I pray that he will not get lost or get into an accident. I pray that he won’t text or look at his phone while he’s driving.

It never crosses my mind to pray that if he is pulled over by the police for speeding or for some other infraction, that he won’t be shot and killed.

I don’t pray that the eyes of police officers will not fall on his face and wonder if he is up to some kind of trouble.

Yesterday I saw in the news that it was the anniversary of the deaths of JFK and C. S. Lewis. It was also the anniversary of the shooting of twelve-year old Tamir Rice by Cleveland Police two years ago.

And I wonder why we remember some deaths but not others. Why do we value some people over others when Jesus holds every life as precious?

And this is where I was sitting when you texted and asked me about Advent.

And so I stopped, I did a quick search on my blog, and got lost for a minute thinking of all the many ways I have celebrated Advent with my kids in years past.

This year when we moved (again) and I got rid of everything (again), I did not keep any Christmas decorations. I look at the pictures and the books and the gatherings from years past and I feel so far away from those seasons.

How do we celebrate when people are in prison and enslaved and in refugee camps and stuck in the middle of war zones? How do we celebrate when in our own country, the divides between people seem wider than ever?

And I wonder even if I make a list, and try hold a light up in the darkness, if it will only be an unheard whisper amidst the throngs of Black Friday madness as we all let the hurting fade into our frenzy.

So I closed my computer and went to bed. And then today I thought long and hard about the coming Christmas season. I thought that even if I am too late now with my list for you, that I still need to make it. I need to make it for myself. Because I still want to be a part of the people who are climbing to the light.

Somewhere beyond the barricade there is a world I want to see.

I am still waiting for Jesus, and while I’m waiting, I am looking hard for him in the faces of every person I pass as I walk through my new home town.

All over the streets here in Tübingen, vendors are selling advent wreaths made of evergreen. Even my German teacher said this week that everyone in Germany will be preparing for Advent. I bought a wreath on my way home today.

My first steps toward Christmas, and towards hope.

So this Sunday, I will join in with people all over the world in marking the first Sunday of Advent. I will light a candle in the dark. And I will try to let it shine.

LOVE YOU SO MUCH!

Alison

PS Here’s my list:

WAYS TO CELEBRATE ADVENT

(especially with little ones!)

Read Christmas stories!

Here are some of our favorites:

The Last Straw Fredrick H. Thury

The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey Susan Wojciechowski

Christmas Tapestry Patricia Polacco

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever Barbara Robinson

An Orange for Frankie Patricia Polacco

Welcome Comfort Patricia Polacco

Christmas Day in the Morning Pearl S. Buck

How the Grinch Stole Christmas Dr. Suess

The Legend of the Christmas Stocking Rick Osborne

Silent Night (just the words of the hymn) illustrated by Susan Jeffers

I Spy Christmas Walter Wick and Jean Marzollo 

Angela and the Baby Jesus Frank McCourt

The All I’ll Ever Want for Christmas Doll Patricia K. McKissack

Great Joy Kate DiCamillo

Read Christmas books/devotions.

Again, my favorites:

Unwrapping the Gift by Ann Voskamp

She also has a beautiful children’s version, and you can download ornaments to color in and hang if you do the Jesse Tree from her website. You can also buy a gorgeous, wood-carved advent wreath made by Ann’s kids who use the money they make to support kids they have adopted through Compassion International.

Preparing for Christmas by Richard Rohr

Watch for the Light is a collection from multiple authors

WinterSong and A Widening Light are books of Christmas poetry that I love

Christmastide: Prayers for Advent by Phyllis Tickle

Our friend Jerusalem Greer has a section on celebrating Advent in her great book for families, A Homemade Year

Other EASY, practically free ways to celebrate:

Make salt dough ornaments.

Make gingerbread men.

Make other treats to share!

Take treats to your neighbors.

Make a nativity out of these prints and toilet paper rolls.

Listen to Christmas Music! Of course. For kids, Slugs and Bugs Christmas is our fav. But I like all kinds of Christmas music.

Join a choir!

Make a Jesse Tree.

Volunteer to be a Salvation Army Bell Ringer.

Read the Christmas story from the Bible every day in December. My mama did this with us when we were little, and by the time Christmas came we could say the whole story. Just like Linus.

Use a pocket advent calendar or 24 brown bags or 24 envelopes to make your December plans. I’ve done this for years and it helps me to be intentional about doing one small thing every day to mark the season. Some of the ideas require a little more planning, but others are simple or easy. I also put in any big events that are already on the calendar, like our church Christmas service or any party that we are all invited to, because then there’s no need to plan something else for that day. If I fill the calendar up the week before December 1st, I can do whatever planning I need to do for the bigger events. And the events/activities have evolved as the kids have gotten older. For example, I used to put “Read Christmas stories and make hot cocoa” but last year, instead I wrote “Visit our friends’ little kids at bedtime and read them Christmas stories.” A few more ideas: Go ice skating, Watch a Christmas movie, Make cookies, Go for a winter walk in the woods, Drive around and look at Christmas lights, Walk around with coffee and cinnamon rolls and hand them out to whoever is on the streets, Sing Christmas songs, Make Christmas cards, Play board games, Make a silly video for a faraway family member or friend and send it to them, Paint Christmas trees and hang them on the wall.

Ok that’s all I can think of! Now I need to find 24 envelopes and get to work. XO

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A Letter to My Son After He Left Home at 18

March 2016

Oh Cole,

It’s been exactly a month since you got on a plane and flew back to America,

with all my worries and fears

as well as my hopes and dreams.

Today I got to talk to you for the first time. Like really talk. On the phone without awkward pauses and not just to get a little bit of information you need.

You told me about your job. Your apartment. Your friends. Your life.

And it was good.

It was good to hear your voice and to be able to sense the happy.

You are doing your thing and you are on your own. Just like you’ve wanted to be for a long time. And things seem to be going well. You are working at a job you seem to like. You are going to church and to Bible study in the middle of the week. You are loving on your friends and you cousins and your extended family.

You are driving without a license which makes me nervous, but I kept quiet about that. You are working on getting your license. If you get caught without one and you have to go to jail, well, then I guess you will learn.

But even then, I begin to feel certain, that you will figure it out.

You will probably need a little help, but you will figure it out.

And that’s what you’ve been trying to tell me for a long time.

That you are ready to live on your own. No school. No parents telling you what to do. No Mama fixing your dinner and asking if you’re still hungry. No Dad telling you that you need to save your money. Work hard. Plan ahead.

You have wanted this for longer than I can remember. And I was pretty sure that you would be sorry once you had it.

Once you were on your own and you could see that it was just you.

To pay the bills. To buy the food. To cook the food. To clean up. To wash clothes. To get yourself up. To be the adult.

But you are a month in at being just you.

You and your friend. One bedroom. No internet. No car.

And you are managing. And you seem happy to be just you.

And I am sorry that I took so long to let you go.

I still miss you. And I can’t quite believe our time of being mama and son in one house, under the same roof, is over. I was not quite ready. I’m not sure I ever will be.

But I am proud.

And I am thankful for your pushing until you got what you wanted. Even if it drove me crazy.

And I know that it’s not just you. But it’s you and Jesus. And you will make it just fine without me.

But still. I’m glad that every once in a while we get to talk.

And if you ever happened to drop by, I would gladly still make you dinner.

I love you with all my heart,

Mama

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In this day and age of email and texting, it is a rare but delightful occurrence to open your mailbox and find a handwritten letter waiting for you.

In this last year especially, I have rediscovered the joy of writing letters.

I’ve been sending lots more letters.

I mentioned briefly last week that I am starting a new writing project.

It’s called Letters from Alison.

Some of the letters are to myself, some are to my children. Some are to countries or places or people.

Some are letters I have actually written and sent and others just exist in this space.

Not unlike other writing projects I’ve done in the past (12 Days of Stories or 48 Walks), this project has been a little injection of creativity for me and has informed much of the free writing I’ve done recently.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to share a few of these letters on my website.

I hope that they will bring you a little joy or inspire you to write a letter or two of your own.

By way of introduction, here is a little gem my mama saved from 1984.

I wrote most of my letters back then at school.

I’m sorry for those who have grown up with texting because that they have missed the glorious old phase of life known as “passing notes.”

I passed many a note in my school days.

One day I wrote one to my mama, as she often stuck notes to me in my lunchbox.

I’m so glad she saved it.

PS. You can subscribe to my blog via email right here if you don’t want to miss any of the other letters.

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In honor of wishing I was smack dab in the middle of a giant family gathering today, I am sharing an ode to one of my favorite spots in my hometown, Lakewood Lake.

A Love Letter to Lakewood Lake

You have been my stomping grounds since I was a wee thing.

My sister and I used to jump in the water after sweating through church picnics in the neighboring pavilion.

In high school, I started running the loop around you with friends, trying to work off all those curly fries and milkshakes from our waistlines.

I wandered around you in the dark after school dances. I may or may not have kissed a boy or two under the trees that surround your shores.

My mom and I both have measured our improving or declining health by how many times we can do the mile loop that circles you.

And I have measured each of my children’s growths by what they can reach on the playground or how high they can climb on the structures that are so old that my parents climbed them as children.

The kids all played in Saturday soccer games on the fields next to your waters, and Taido has played tennis with them all on the courts.

We have come to see you straight from school on many afternoons to burn off energy, play at the park and eat snacks at the picnic tables.

I cannot begin to number the times I have come here to read, to write or just be alone with my thoughts. To take a deep breath.

There are few bad days that an hour at Lakewood Lake could not improve for me.

Every time I see a picture from home of you, I die a little inside. I miss you so much. I live near the sea here in Aberdeen, Scotland, so you would think that would be a fine substitute for a small neighborhood lake. But the North Sea is not holding all my life memories like you are, Lakewood Lake. It is almost as if the water itself is keeping vigil over my stories of growing up and living in Arkansas. And when I return, you hand them back to me one at a time, or let me add a new one.

I love you in every season and in all sorts of weather, and you can bet that you will be one of the first places I go when I make my way back to Arkansas.

PS. Friends, if you live near the lake, walk a loop for me today after you eat your Thanksgiving feast and send me a photo. 

Is there a place in your hometown that is like this for you? I would love to hear about it!

Want to keep up with all of my travels? Maybe you’d like to subscribe to future posts by email or receive my occasional email newsletter.

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