Do Not Be Afraid

Keep looking for the light.

Today’s essay is a bit different, but it came to me like a flood after a conversation that I recently had, and like so much of what I write these days, it made demands of me. It insisted that it be a letter to my daughter. This is very likely because I am currently exploring the joys of epistolary writing with the brilliant

Jeannine Ouellette

at WITD (you can join us here if you like!) and I’ve also been totally engrossed in

Marc Typo

’s Substack Raising Myles where he writes a letter to his son every week. Oh, and writing letters with

Elizabeth Gilbert

every Sunday is now my favorite spiritual practice and my most favorite community on the interwebs (other than this one, of course! Again, feel free to join the LFL community here if you’re interested in some serious heart expansion.)

Thank you to new readers and old for being here- your presence and your encouragement and your comments really mean the world to me.

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Dear Finley,

At the time that I am writing this letter, you are only five years old. Right now, in fact, you are sitting in the swivel chair by the dining table “coloring” on one of those apps on my phone where you tap the number and it fills in the corresponding color. You have just informed me that you are working on a picture of a creepy clown with a pumpkin for a head, which does not surprise me one tiny little bit, as you have always been enamored with all things Halloween. Remember when you were three and wanted to dress up as a wraith? Your dad knew what that was, of course, but I had to google it. All of my friend’s kids were trick or treating as unicorns and superheroes, and there you were, in your ghostly reaper’s outfit, your face painted black with your blonde curls peaking out of the hood. What an unknown delight you are at times, my love. Your fearlessness is one of my favorite things about you. That, and your confidence. I hope you hang on to these things with all your might, sweet pea.

It is fear, in fact, that has inspired me to sit and write you this letter. I’ve been thinking about fear ever since your grandfather texted me this picture earlier today, telling me how much he loved this piece of art:

My first thought, if I’m being honest, and I’ve promised to always be honest with you, was, “Oh, my. Of course you do!” Because not long ago, he also posted this little number on social media with a cautionary warning, which is different and also the same:

Don’t be frightened of these images, honey bun (not that you would be, you little monster-loving minx, you). And I hope you know that I don’t begrudge your grandpa for identifying with these artistic renditions. He is only expressing his worldview, which was handed to him as a boy and reinforced throughout his life, that the world is full of terrors and we best be on guard if we are to survive it. He has a protector’s spirit as a result of this, which isn’t such a terrible thing, really.

I was handed this perspective as well, of course. Both from the church and also from the world at large (it was the eighties- things were a little different back in the 1900s.) When I was little, grown-ups were always warning us kids about “stranger danger.” Apparently, strangers were very interested in luring us into their cars with candy and then locking us up in their basements for vague, nefarious reasons. The only “safe” grown-ups were family members and police officers.

One time, I was shopping at a department store with your grandma when I was about the age you are now, and we got separated. There wasn’t a cop in sight, only strangers everywhere, so I hid in the center of one of those round clothing racks and tried to be very quiet while I cried so that no one would snatch me. You can only imagine how terrified your poor grandma was- it took forever to find me- but I was only doing what I was told.

Nowadays we know better. I’ve tried to talk to you about “tricky” or “unsafe” grown-ups, knowing what we do about the fact that most abuse happens within the family or with known adults, and that most strangers are perfectly nice people who have no intention of hiding kids in their basement. I talk to you about how trustworthy grown-ups won’t ask a kid to help them, or go somewhere alone with them, or tell them to keep a secret from their parents “or else they’ll be in big trouble.” I’ve taught you that the parts of your body that you cover with a bathing suit are private, and what the correct name for those parts is, though I hope and pray no grown up ever asks to touch or see those parts or I will lose my ever-loving mind.

But I love that last weekend at the farmer’s market you struck up a conversation with that man with the dog, who you brought over to me, saying, “Mommy! This is Scooter and he has a real life deer for a pet!” He smiled sheepishly at me and sat down, telling me what a sweet kid you were, and of course we needed to know more about his pet dear, my love. He is no longer a stranger, and thank goodness. The world needs more Scooters in it.

The thing is, when I was a girl, I was taught to be suspicious of everyone. Most especially people who believed different things than I did. These people, I was told, were “lost” and did not have God inside of them like we did. We were supposed to love them, but to be wary. They could “lead us astray.” I am fairly certain that your grandfather thinks that I have fallen prey to these people lately, and that he is afraid for me. I feel really sad about this, but I can’t change his mind, no matter what I say and how prettily.

I was listening to this author that I adore the other day on a podcast, a lovely man named John Phillip Newell with a Scottish accent that just melts me, (if you are old enough now, you should definitely read “Listening to the Heartbeat of God” or “Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul”. Or both! Just read both of them, darling, please, for your mom?) and he was talking about a time that he was asked to speak to a group of people here in America about how we are all born good and that this goodness, this sacredness is our birthright. This, coming from a former Church of Scotland minister, is quite a thing. Usually ministers go on and on about how we are all born broken and sinful and unworthy. Augustine and Calvin really did a number on the Church, you know. I wish I could give those men a hug and tell them not to be so hard on themselves, maybe introduce them to a therapist specializing in Internal Family Systems or Carl Jung. That would really be something.

Anyway, when J.P., (as his friends call him, and I would like to consider him a friend), finished his talk, a Native American elder stood up and said, (and I’m paraphrasing here), “I wonder as I listen to you, what would have happened to my people all those years ago if the colonizers coming to America had expected to find the sacred in us?”

I wonder this as well, baby cakes. I wonder what the whole world would look like if we expected to find God in other people? I think I am raising you to look for the goodness first, to expect it even. I’m trying. I know that some people are not safe, of course, and you need to learn that truth both by your dad and I sharing that information with you and also, I’m afraid, by being hurt by people. That’s part of being human, my love. But I hope you know that even the people who are being terrible and awful are not vicious predators who exist exclusively to cause harm. They’re just hurting, baby, and have forgotten their sacred birthright.

Please know this as well, because it took me a really long time to really figure it out: it is not your job to fix those people. It’s their job. Full stop. And while they are creating chaos, you need to protect yourself, sweet pea. You need to stay far, far, away from them. If doing so breaks your heart, know that you are in good company. It breaks my heart as well. Maybe try praying this Buddhist lovingkindness prayer for them: “May you be well. May you be peaceful. May you be free.” I say this all the time when I pass by the house of our unwell neighbor who threw the rock through our window on mother’s day, and I think it helps. I’m not angry at him anymore. Or, remember that when Jesus was hanging on the cross being taunted by men who were hurting him and being cruel, he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they are doing.” (Don’t be confused by the people who claim to follow Christ and portray very little of this kind of radical compassion- they know not what they are doing either, my love. They’re just scared and afflicted with a kind of spiritual amnesia, you see.) I think Jesus knew that trying to convince those men to be better people was futile, but that he could be compassionate to them anyway, he could forgive them, because that is what God does. This economy of grace makes little sense to most of us, but I guess that’s because we’ve still got a lot of learning and healing to do. It’s hard to give grace to people who are being horrible to you, I know.

I’ll leave you by reminding you that your kindness is your greatest strength, and to be vulnerable in a world that can, at times, be mean and nasty, is the bravest thing a person can do. Keep on looking for the light in the eyes of the stranger, for you’ll find your own reflection there, beautiful girl. To be surprised by where we find the Divine, and in whom, is one of life’s greatest joys, and all you need to do to find it is to be still and present enough to notice.

Don’t be afraid, my daughter. You are so loved.

I adore you,

Mom