Dear Wesleyan,

Thank you for welcoming me into your community. As someone who has been searching for himself all his life, I could not find a better environment to do so. Every day I spend I get ever closer to the answer of the question: who am I meant to be? More specifically, who does God want me to be?

I remember when I first set foot on your campus ten years ago. Though I had no conception that I would ever be a student there, I knew there was something different about that place: it seemed to have God’s blessing. I saw it, not just in the JOY (Jesus, Others, Yourself) banners that decorated Technology Parkway, not in your impeccable athletic department or your students’ intellectual prowess or maturity, not even in the magnificence of your campus, but also in the warm grin that never seemed to leave the headmaster’s face, the passion I observed in the students in everything they did, and the incredible stories of God’s work in student’s own lives and around the world through your mission trips. You were, I decided, too good for me.

As I watched my dad juggle coach numerous wrestling matches, football games, and baseball games, teach statistics and geometry, and take my sister to and from school, I became more and more jealous. I wanted a family. Sure, my old school was great, but there was something you had that Lionheart didn’t—indeed, still doesn’t—have.

At any rate, I went on to Mill Springs, with my mother now entering your halls to teach. Once, my family took me to one of your football games, since Mill Springs lacked a team. It was then that I actually began paying attention to what was going on at halftime: your 50-man marching band was performing. They were small, but they were mighty—and they had slots for percussionists. As an avid pianist at the time, I knew if I ever made it to you, I would make it to your pit, proudly hitting a marimba for the whole world to see.

But of course, I highly doubted that would ever come to pass. I thought Mill Springs was my new home. I had been making friends left and right, had a near perfect GPA, even made it up to Level R within a month or so. Then, a chain of events happened to me. Suddenly, Mill Springs no longer felt like home. It was cold, unforgiving. Yet everyone else seemed fine, for the most part. That’s when I realized—I did not belong at Mill Springs. My family regaled me with tales of your greatness, how you were more competent, simulated life better, asked more of me, were fairer in general. I had already started to apply to you at my family’s behest, and now, I was convinced I would live in your embrace forever.

And so, after interviews, orientations and acceptances, I began my career within your walls. It was a culture shock—getting used to everything I had anticipated and more was overwhelming. The food was tastier, their nurse more amicable, the students smarter, kinder, more open. After a semester spent letting my past go, I adjusted rapidly, and now, in my junior year of high school, I am proud to call myself a citizen of you.

I am active on so much within you—math team, academic bowl, science bowl, marching band, winter drumline, track and field, and mission teams to Chattanooga and Nicaragua. Thanks to the friendships that have resulted from all this running around, my life is inextricably linked to you, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Despite not being geared to autistic people, you have transformed my life. See, through your influence, your chapels, your Bible classes, your incredible faculty and students as a whole—they all have taught me one thing: to enjoy life and live it to the fullest. It is through you I have seen my greatest triumphs—and I know many more are to come thanks to what you have done for me.

Many students adapt to the culture of their school within the first year of their entry. I have not merely adapted to your culture, but adopted it. You and I are practically one and the same. And I’m not just saying that because I’m the principal’s son. Everything you do, or ever will do, I support and embrace. I know we are not perfect, but there is nothing that could ever change the way I feel about you and what you have done for me.

You represent everything good and perfect in my life. Despite many challenges, you understand me better than anyone outside my family. I know this is not the case for most schools, but there is something about you that is—different. And, after three years, I’ve finally figured out what it is.

It is God’s love. While both of my old schools loved their students, there was no God motivating them to do so. You show God’s love to each of your students every day, respecting and welcoming all, dispelling all stereotypes outsiders throw at you.

So thank you. Thank you for teachers who invest in the academic and spiritual lives of their students. Thank you for shipping us thousands of miles away to know more about ourselves and God. Thank you for enabling me to pursue dreams that, even six months ago, seemed inconceivable. Thank you for expertly fusing conservative values with progressive education. Above all, thank you for showing me that, through the grace and glory of God, I am unstoppable.

Sincerely,

An Eternally Indebted Student