I’m getting ready to go to Guatemala next Sunday. I have some short people to meet. Keri asked me to go up into the attic to get some suitcases. Along with our clothes for the trip, we are taking stuff for the orphans and Ashley. It looks likes the three of us will each have 2 checked suitcases and 2 carry-ons–the maximum permitted. My clothes fit nicely into a Wal-Mart grocery bag. I was thinking about tying the bag to a stick and carrying it over my shoulder. However, I don’t think I could get the stick thru security.

Anyway, back to the attic. As is usually the case there was no one to help me get the suitcases down from the attic. It works best if someone stands at the bottom of the ladder while the other passes the suitcases down. I had to drop the suitcases to the floor from up in the attic. Keri wanted to know what that awful racket was. I explained that I was using the tried and true Stuart E. method of suitcase recovery. Do it bad enough and you won’t be asked to do it again! The theory and practice of the Stuart method is flawless. My problem is I have a thousand other new things to do.

Up in the attic is my past stored in boxes and trunks. As I was raising the ladder back into place in the ceiling, a piece of my past floated lazily to the floor. It was just a piece of paper torn from a spiral notebook. I thought it was old notes from my college days and I almost wadded it up to throw away. But I decided to have a look. It wasn’t old class notes. It wasn’t as old as that. It was dated September 11, 1985. The following is a transcription of what I had written.

I can’t remember anyone that knew anything about me other than what I led them to know. I have secrets beyond description.

I don’t usually write letters to people because I sometimes express more about myself than I want to reveal. Sometimes I get embarrassed when I think about someone reading a letter I wrote to them. I feel like maybe they won’t understand what I’m trying to say or perhaps they won’t understand the vastness of my feelings. But somehow the expression of one’s heart lends itself to some kind of feeling of relief. For instance: “There, I said it, it’s out, now I feel better.” Do you understand?

I feel a bit sorry for people who never or rarely express what they know their heart is saying. It seems that from the beginning of the human experience one important rule has been “don’t let anyone see your heart.” Why not? There’s no sense lifting yourself up to ridicule when it could be avoided.

When it’s all over I’ll feel better knowing I said or wrote what I truly meant no matter how hard the words came. I feel that the result of that will be easier to take than trying to apologize to myself for not saying what I knew I should have. How could I make an apology when there would be no future chance of redemption? (End)

I was almost 25 years old. I’m 45 now. When I wrote this I had been married for almost 5 months. I had yet to “crash and burn.” In 20 years time I’ve changed a little . Now I write letters to people all the time. I even write to those who I don’t necessarily consider “safe.” When I wrote those words I was afraid to let others see my heart for fear of rejection or ridicule. One would think that after such a long period of time I would be over the “fear” but I’m not. God has not removed it. However let me tell you what He has done. He has taught me to master my fear. That’s so much better isn’t it?

Stuart, Randy, and Mike I love you guys. I’ve found so many answers from the Jesus alive in you. Thanks for being my friends.

Caleb

“You make me want to be brave…….” Nichole Nordeman