#017 - [posted on behalf of anonymous author]

 I didn’t want to write this letter. I didn’t want to want to write this letter. I’ve long feared that my words might damage a place I once called home, that the ways in which I’ve grown and changed in my time since graduation would surprise those whom I love dearly. Despite this, a verse memorized sophomore year reminds me that I have not been given a spirit of timidity, but of love and of a sound mind (2 Tim. 1:7). It is with love and a hope for change that I finally write what has been on my heart regarding The Oaks.

 I believe that my story at The Oaks was characterized by an understanding (or lack thereof) of grace. Since graduation from high school and college, I can say that my life has been marked by grace, but that process has not been painless. While I do not solely blame The Oaks for that lack of understanding, I recognize my time there as a sowing of seeds which would direct my time afterward, for good or otherwise.

 Shortly after my graduation from The Oaks, I met with a church friend and mentor for lunch. Throughout the meal, I fielded a number of faith-related questions, including what I was learning about grace in my own life. Despite my thorough worldview, I struggled to recall what I had been taught about it: salvation is by grace and through faith, grace is an absence of punishment when a punishment is deserved. I struggled to make relevant connections to my own life, driven by legalistic tendencies. She gently told me that she didn’t believe I knew what grace was, and she was right.

 Not long after, I left for my first year of college. Armed with an arsenal of memorized scripture and logical arguments, I was a spiritual warrior determined to convert everyone in my path. My zeal, though well-intended, caused me to say something incredibly hurtful to the woman who was my roommate. Raised in the Jewish faith, she was gracious enough to forgive me and educate me about her religion, leading me to realize that I had only learned the points to attack her beliefs rather than the richness of culture behind them. Thus started a gradual but essential process of unlearning debate arguments and learning the hearts of others, which has since served me far better in apologetics.

Around the same time, I entered into a relationship with a man I met in my honors writing course. The belief that dating should be done with the intent to marry and my lack of previous relationships left me grossly underprepared. I was quickly impressed by his intelligence and eloquence, traits I had learned to value. He had been raised in the church, and his expansive knowledge of faith and philosophy helped me to see past a heart that bore no resemblance to Christ. I endured six months of emotional, sexual, and verbal abuse before breaking off the relationship with the help of a dear friend.

That end marked a turning point in my world. My personal experience with and without grace made me certain I could not be forgiven, could not reconcile this wrong. I had ruined my chances of marrying a godly man, and, overwhelmed by the shame of being a victim of sexual assault, I pursued a number of relationships outside of faith and away from the eyes of those who would judge me for my actions. My parade of poor choices resulted in another sexual assault at the hands of a co-worker who lived in the same building as I did. The following months were long, slow, and fearful.

 Though I had struggled with mental health in high school, even discussed it with loving Oaks teachers and mentors, I had never before faced the overwhelming pool of despair that opened before me that year. After months of barely surviving classes, professors asking after me, and friends struggling to help me stay afloat, I finally enrolled in therapy, a direct contradiction to my senior thesis about Christians turning to Biblical counseling just two years before. I was honest with my professors about what I was facing, and I still cry when I think about the extraordinary kindness, understanding, and care they gave me. I was also honest with myself about the fact that I had completely walked away from my faith.

 For the first time, I acknowledged that the faith of my childhood offered no appeal, that I felt no connection to it other than the friends who had held it in common. In my mind, I had so long proven my worth by my ability to follow and obey, to earn my own merit, and to not make “significant” mistakes. It was a relief to no longer be tied to a failing system.

 At the beginning of my junior year, I met the man who would become my husband. He found out that I had been raised in the church, even attended a Christian school, and was confused by my life choices. When he asked me about my past, I shared openly and completely, sure that he would find me as unloveable as I had believed myself to be over the years.

 To my surprise, what he gave was profound grace.

 What I had anticipated was the form of “forgiveness” I had known before, the kind that speaks of reconciliation in the open but whispers of ruined reputation behind closed doors. He did not see me in the context of my mistakes, dimly through a haze of poor choices that would always shadow my character. He did not shame me for my past or pass me over as worthless. Instead, he demonstrated unconditional love.

That moment marked a turning point in my faith. I could no longer pretend that I had earned my own way, but I began to see the marks of grace in my life and a desire to understand it fully. I searched God’s Word, not for a set of rules to follow, but for the face of the One who had shown love even in darkness.

It would be a gross oversimplification to say that The Oaks is at fault for the pain in my story. Much of what I have experienced has grown me in beautiful ways, and while I wouldn’t wish my experience on another, I’m thankful for what I’ve taken from it: the empathy and understanding I’ve learned, the ability to listen deeply, the chance to care for others when they are hurting. Despite this, as I’ve evaluated my story, I can trace through it the thought patterns that sprouted from seeds planted there, both harmful and good.

 The first dangerous seed is the overemphasis on obedience without considering the heart. While this may be a failing of the system rather than the intentions of those behind it, The Oaks rewards those who obey rather than the heart behind that obedience. As an Oaks student, I wanted to want to obey, but all I could muster was a desire for the rewards I would receive. I still remember learning about the difference between the spirit of the law and the letter of the law. While the Christian faith encourages the spirit of the law, what I saw in practice was the letter of the law.

 When I was in sixth grade, I was rounded up in a sweep of punishment for uniform violations. My crime was wearing appropriately colored and sized socks under high-top Converse sneakers, which made it appear I was wearing no socks. I pleaded my case but was sent to the office for the perceived wrong. I still remember feeling frustrated and ashamed for desiring and pursuing compliance with the uniform code but still being punished for appearances.

 All I can say here is that it is immeasurably valuable to communicate to students that the beauty of obedience comes not from the act itself, as I once believed, not from the studying or correct answers or excellent grades or always maintaining a perfect uniform. The heart of the obeyer is what is beautiful in obedience. God called David a man after His own heart because he longed to obey, and I believe that same principle is worth reflecting upon in the context of education, within The Oaks as well as outside of it.

 The second unhealthy seed is that of strict legalism and one-way-roads. After graduating The Oaks, I carried with me a fully-fleshed worldview that I believed was the only way to be saved. Despite the chants and memory tools, despite the assurances that secondary doctrines were in fact secondary, I had completely missed the point of “by grace through faith” and held that salvation was by believing and living a number of specific doctrinal rules. Alternate forms of even obscure doctrines could be enough to endanger the faith and were worth debating for the sake of the eternal soul of the doctrine-holder.

 One specific memory that still haunts me is of the day following the 2008 election. Someone decided we should tally each student’s parents and which candidate they had supported on the whiteboard. Student after student proudly stated that their parents had voted for Republican candidate McCain. When the class found out that one student’s parents had voted for Obama, we shamed him cruelly, and I don’t recall the teacher or aid doing anything to stop it. Imagine my surprise when I later learned that Christians could and did vote for both parties while upholding their convictions of faith.

 Though this is admittedly tough in a school that teaches a specific worldview, teaching a variety of worldviews is incredibly important. Take more time than you think it should take. Explore worldviews fully, both the arguments against and the arguments for each belief. A holistic understanding requires multiple forms of input, and an incomplete understanding leads to hollow and hurtful arguments, as I myself have seen.

 This approach is perhaps most important in the teaching of the Christian worldview. Teach both its strengths and weaknesses. Teach multiple forms of secondary doctrine. Teaching only the basics of theology leaves students with an incomplete understanding of the faith, regardless of whether it’s a faith they choose to live themselves.

The final harmful seed that directed my course and perhaps was the most formative is a lack of understanding regarding grace. When asked, I was able to give a definition of grace and probably even delivered an impromptu speech on it at least once, but I did not feel true grace until much later. What I felt at The Oaks was transactional: grace is given after a payment or punishment is fulfilled. A name-on-the-board requires a phone call home and denied recess before it is wiped away; a uniform violation requires a parent to drive to the school with an appropriate replacement before the student rejoins class. Grace and mercy are new every morning, but not before.

 I want to start by saying that I understand a school system may not be the most conducive environment for this radical form of grace. After all, a teacher with little enforcement is labeled a pushover. This is unfortunately necessitated by the publicization of punishment. If confrontation were done privately, as Matthew 18 suggests, free of the intention to shame into obedience, there could perhaps be powerful grace and forgiveness in response to true repentance.

 That being said, I still think of a day when Ben Palpant explained the impact of true forgiveness. He described a scenario in which a person saw you in the context of the wrongs you had done and loved you regardless. He told us that active remembrance of wrongs made the choice to love and forgive more meaningful, but I am more moved by the grace that I have since seen, a grace that in the face of repentance completely forgets a wrong and moves forward with a clean slate. I believe that kind of grace can and should exist in an environment like The Oaks; how powerful that message could be to works-driven students like myself.

 In the spirit of true and fair feedback, an accurate depiction of my time at The Oaks, I also want to recognize the seeds that have positively affected my life. There are many, far more than I can list here, and I would do the school a disservice not to mention them. I feel these need less explanation; their value is innate and immediately clear.

 First, The Oaks taught me to think critically. Thanks to careful instruction at the hands of Oaks teachers, I have made use of Logic and Rhetoric consistently in a variety of fields and scenarios. I have moved many times, but in every place I have called home, The Rhetoric and Poetics of Aristotle has earned a prime spot on my bookshelf.

 Second, The Oaks taught me to appreciate that which is beautiful. I have had the opportunity to apply that appreciation to a number of other authors, histories, and cultures. The foundation of appreciating beauty has served me well as I have continued to explore the world and what it has to offer.

 Third, The Oaks has shown me the value of invested teachers. I fondly recall conversations that I have shared with teachers over lunches, in the early minutes before classes, and even long after the day had ended. The teachers at The Oaks gave so much to develop deeper relationships with their students, and I am thankful to still call them friends and mentors.

Last, The Oaks impressed upon me the impact of reading the Word. I remember Eric Fugitt telling us that the Bible would direct us but only if we read it intentionally, habitually, often. A Bible on a nightstand does no good, but a Bible which regularly waters the heart will direct its path.

 As many others have said in their letters, I am unsure of whether I would change my history knowing what I do now. The Oaks taught me to love music and writing, to speak persuasively and to support my points of view. I made lasting friendships there, and it was a spiritual greenhouse to some who walked its halls. At the same time, it has taken me years to unlearn certain patterns from The Oaks and to find the faith I did not have there.

 To conclude this rambling letter, here’s something I wrote in my Moleskine so many years ago, “The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now.” (Chinese Proverb). These letters may be positive or negative in their views, harsh or fond in their recollections. Despite their differences, they are alike in their purposes: healing, change, appreciation, information, recognition, growth. These letters provide an opportunity to move forward, to shore up weaknesses and celebrate strengths. I hope that they are seen as that opportunity, that they are read, and that they are valued.

 

Today is the day to plant a tree of change.

 

With grace, love, and not fear,

A Former Oaks Student