Dear Tate, Vol. 1 👀

in which we all need fresh eyes

Two days ago we dropped off our oldest, Tate, at the airport for her college semester abroad in Austria. Even though she normally attends university already a thousand miles away from us, I'm still going to miss her like crazy (we talk all the time). I pitched to her the idea of us writing letters to each other, back and forth, Spencer Klavan and Andrew Klavan style a la THE NEW JERUSALEM (but probably with less philosophy), and she was all on board. …Obviously we're not going to get too terribly personal in public here, but we still thought the endeavor would be fun.

Here's my first letter to her. She'll respond in kind next week.

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Vienna, by Andrew Voy #

Dear Tate,

So here you are, once again, in Europe. That sounds so bougie at first blush, as you and I have already talked about — oh, here you are again, where we as a family summer (it’s never a good sign when ‘summer’ becomes a verb); not too far from where you lived in your early childhood years. Don’t be that guy. You’re there with peers, some of whom have never left their home country, which means the cross-cultural adjustment for them will be sharper than it will be for you. Theirs will be a right angle; yours will be more of a curve.

I’m grateful that this will be your experience because it also means I’m grateful for the life we’ve lived as a family thus far and for the culture we’ve created in our home. When you walk through this courtyard on your new campus and see the clock tower illuminated by the moonlight (thanks for sending that photo, by the way), you can revel in its beauty because you know from experience in being to umpteen countries that human-built civilizations are old and there is a universal desire for beauty reflected in things made by human hands: paintings, food and drink, and clock towers. Your mother can also seethe in jealousy that this courtyard is your view while hers is passing strip malls heading north on I-35 while stuck in standstill traffic in Round Rock. But I digress.

However, your counterparts for whom this is their first true overseas experience have a leg up on you in this way: they will see things with a set of brand-new eyes that you last used when you were perhaps two or three years old. You’d sit on my lap as we rode the bus from our apartment into downtown Izmir, Turkey and we’d pass ancient ruins from the Roman Empire as one does when one lives in a city that sits on top of twenty layers of civilization. As a toddler, you’d climb like it was recess the rocks that St. Paul walked on when he made port in Ephesus, and you did this in between naptime and dinner on a family drive an hour from our front door. You later busted your front tooth on your brother’s head as y’all played in the ruins of Hierapolis, and the chip from your tooth remains there, somewhere among the pebbles of a fallen Roman empire (and probably with some other ancient child’s chipped tooth).

These are good gifts I’m glad you have — that you’ve practiced sharpening your eyesight for almost twenty years now. This lens is one we all need for walking through our lives in this modern era: one that recognizes the history upon which we stand, the birth of our worldview, the tiny part we play in the history of humankind on earth, and the vastness of this beautiful place God has created for us (and that humans have co-created out of the imagination and skills He’s given them).

But your peers for whom this is new will see this, for the first time, with eyes slightly older than a toddlers’, and will therefore connect with their Maker on a deeper level (if they let themselves) because they will be forced to depend on Him as He rocks their world. Your world has already been rocked in this way. This means yours will be rocked in another way. You will be asked to depend on Him by humbling you and remaining eager.

Here’s my hope for you this semester — that you allow God to show you things with fresh eyes, and that you’ll maintain a learner’s posture as though you’ve never traveled overseas. You have so much on your docket for the next few months that will bound to serve as a wise teacher, if you are willing to learn: a new language, a new village and nearby cities to navigate, new peers around whom you’re surrounded and therefore are new potential friends, a new schedule, a new modus operandi all together.

Plus, a freaking awesome itinerary… I hope, looking back, that you forever remain gobsmacked that part of your education this semester involved familiarity with storied cities like Vienna and Salzburg, wandering Rome and the Vatican, immersing yourself in Assisi, stepping foot in Auschwitz and Birkenau, and who knows what other surprising European experiences God has in store for you. Dangitall, kid... What a gift this is.

You know this quote from St. Augustine: “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” We all could use with a little page-turning in our lives. Even little day trips from our humble hometowns count, big and small — your brothers and dad and I plan to do a little local exploring this spring while you’re doing your own version of that across the pond. Sure, we won’t be stepping in medieval cathedrals and witnessing Great Art, but we’ll probably have some really good barbecue and listen to someone who knows their way around a guitar. This counts as turning the page, too.

So... Maintain a learner’s posture this semester. Pretend like you’ve never set foot in another country before (though do use the wisdom God's given you through experience — you know to wear your backpack on your front in a crowded train). Experience the same ‘wow’ your peers will experience. And let God surprise you in the most unexpected way... He likes doing that with us. It’s one of the many ways He’s a good Father.

And also, read something good while you’re there, just for fun — it’s always good to keep a book in that front-facing backpack of yours. What do you think you might read first (besides class-assigned reading, of course)? And what are you most excited to see in these early weeks there?

Love you kid,

Mom

p.s. — Also, see if you can deepen your newfound appreciation for coffee this semester. Try some new drinks in all those cafés you’ll pass... You’re in Europe, after all.