“A” Is For “Audience”

“Remember me for this, O my God, and do not blot out what I have so faithfully done for the house of my God and its services.”

Nehemiah 13:14

Every year, I teach argumentative writing. One of the most important aspects of analyzing or writing arguments is to know the audience. As readers, when we read or hear a proposition, if we understand the author’s opinion, his purpose, and exactly who his audience is, we can better recognize the strategies he’s using – and possibly avoid being manipulated. Conversely, as writers, we want to write arguments that are strong, clear, and concise, and that have a definite purpose with a specific group of people – or, their intended audience. For instance, if I’m going to write something asking first graders to do something, I’m going to use language that works for first graders. I wouldn’t use college level vocabulary with a group of elementary school kids!

Also, I challenge students to choose an audience for whom they have something of value –  something their audience might not yet have and might not yet know they should want. For example, don’t try to convince bodybuilders to go to the gym more or eat more protein. Instead, ask yourself, Who needs to hear that message? Answer that question, and then write your argument in a manner that your intended audience easily understands and can relate to.

Of course, I learned about this principle from other master teachers, professors, and colleagues. I have attempted to build and refine these skills in my students over the years, and now, I’m attempting to apply it to my own writing.

I had a meeting yesterday. Myself and two other Christian teachers gathered at a cute little breakfast cafe to talk about our writing projects. As these two beautiful ladies enjoyed their omelets, I sipped my coffee and enjoyed our friendly conversation, although I have to admit that I was excited when talk turned toward our writing projects.

“Tell me what your book is about,” Nancy requested, her kind eyes bright with polite, sincere curiosity.

I jumped in with my usual answer. “My goal is to rebuild the trust that has disintegrated between parents and public school teachers.”  I paused as I thought.  “I imagine teachers will read it, of course, but I’m calling out to parents specifically.”

“My goal is to rebuild the trust that has disintegrated between parents and public school teachers.”

Nancy and Shirley hmmmmed and nodded as they chewed on this thought. “So, are you talking only to Christian parents? Or, like, all parents?” Nancy asked.

I thought for a moment. I had considered this before and, going against what I teach my students, I had previously chosen not to narrow my audience.

While I hesitated, Nancy jumped back in. “I’m just thinking of all my Christian friends who have pulled their kids out of public school and put them in private,” she said, looking at Shirley to pull her into the conversation. 

Shirley nodded her head.  “Yeah, they think we’re all going down in flames,” she chuckled with a sardonic smile.  Her tone suggested sarcasm, but I watched as Nancy nodded her head in agreement. It sounded incredible to us, three Christian women who devote their lives to public education, but there was a lot of truth there.

“Well, my  intended audience is really any parent with a kid in a public high school,” I answered. “They don’t have to be Christian. I hope just as many non-believers as believers read what I write.”

And I meant it.

But let me clear something up.

This blog is not meant to make you believe in God. If that happens, WOW! What an incredible thing to be a part of! However, it is not my job to make you believe something. God does not give us that job, so he does not give us that power. Rather, my job is simply this:

• To witness.
• To testify.
• To tell about the wondrous things He has done in my heart, and how He shows up in my life.

As Christians, we often choose to see God’s purpose where others don’t.  We endeavor to see meaning in the void, as well as in the plenty, and everywhere in between. This is a choice, and it requires practice.

Unfortunately, I’ve noticed that some people become uncomfortable when I share the meanings and purposes I see in life. I think this could be for lots of different reasons, but the results are often in the same thread:

Irritation
Anger
Shunning
Judgment
Gossip

... and the saddest:

A Terrible Need to Coverup and Extinguish the Light Within Me

So, while in a simple sense, all I’m doing here is witnessing, it is not without several degrees of fear.

Let’s say that last one comes true. While it would be terrible, I am endlessly an optimist. Perhaps I could teach in a Christian school, right?

It’s possible, but I don’t know that I would. Simply stated, that’s not where I’m called. Jesus didn’t walk with the righteous or the healthy. He walked with the sick! How am I doing His Will if I’m only ministering to those who have already chosen to believe?

No, my place is here – in the public high school. I promise to operate according to the rules of my profession. There may be no outward identifiers of my beliefs, and if you could ever justify the claim that I am “indoctrinating” my students, I think I have failed. (Remember, making believers is not in my power, so I choose not to compete with God.)  Instead, I hope to be seen as a servant of God’s Children, and this blog is simply my testimony of how He shows up every day in a place where I’m not allowed to say His name.  I can pray for your kids even if you don’t believe in God yet, and how does that harm you?

I can say these things because of my faith that the most important person in the universe sees my heart and my work, and He blesses me beyond anything I can imagine – on earth as it is in heaven.

At the time of this writing, my beloved Grandma Le passed away eight days ago.  She was one of my greatest teachers.  She taught me to know my value, assert it, and never compromise it.  She taught me to be frank, to be bold, to color outside the lines, to choose gratitude, and to choose to see God’s purpose – even in difficult situations.  She taught me all these things without a single spoken lesson; she taught me by how she lived. She taught me through how she loved the people in her life, including me.  I am humbled by the various and plentiful legacies she left with all of us who knew her.

I had the great honor of delivering the eulogy at her funeral just a few days ago.  I sweated over this endeavor, and put all my energy as a writer and as her pupil into this tribute.  The day before her funeral, my father placed two sketchbooks in front of me as I stood at the kitchen counter.  “These were Grandma Le’s,” he said, indicating the smaller hunter green and full-size brown spiral notebooks laid in front of me.  “I thought you might like to look through them.”

My already-hurting heart twisted further in my chest.  I opened the larger brown notebook.

“I’m not sure what all she put in there, but they were in her room at the memory care center.  This one has a few sketches, and a few things written.”  My dad watched me leaf through the pages, taking in the lines his beloved mother left on the pages.  

I struggled to open my heart to her words and doodles as a wave of grief threatened to overtake me.  

I picked up the smaller green notebook.  “This one doesn’t have any drawings, just writing,” he said as I ruffled the pages, quickly scanning.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.  “I will definitely look through them, but not right now.”  The tears were breaking free from the lump that had taken residence in my throat for the past four days.

My father nodded.  “Yep,” he replied.  He knew I wasn’t there yet.  

I stacked the notebooks, pushing them to the side of the counter where I wouldn’t forget to pack them for the trip home from Nebraska.  Then, I turned, and just hugged my Dad, and as we leaned on each other, I let the man who has always seemed invincible wrap me in his strong arms and bottomless heart.

About 24 hours after Grandma Le’s funeral, I opened the smaller green notebook, and began reading.  At the top of about page 20, my heart dropped.  At the top of the page, in all caps, my Grandma had printed:  BIBLE PASSAGE FOR MY FUNERAL.

Anxiety and regret shot up through my lungs and singed the back of my throat.  Why didn’t I look through these when Dad gave them to me?  I screamed inside myself.  I missed this, and Grandma wanted this!  I took a deep breath and kept reading, pushing the attack of “you failed” and “you’re not good enough” away.  

Below this title, Grandma had written one verse:

“Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

Philippians 3:10, 13-14

I think I re-read the verse about 10 times.  My thick skull, foggy with grief for the past and love missed, couldn’t squeeze the meaning of these words into my brain.  Slowly, I began to understand.  Grandma Le wanted us to know that she wasn’t worried about dying.  She wasn’t worried about the past because she was too busy looking forward.  She was pressing on toward the prize of heaven.  She was letting me know that she was in heaven, and she was thrilled to be there, and she knew that’s where she was going before she left us.

So, my audience for this book?  It’s parents with kids in public high schools.  I understand that by writing this and publishing it, I am opening myself up to attack – by Satan, by individuals, by organizations.  But I made promises in that eulogy at Grandma Le’s funeral.  I promised to be bold, to color outside the lines, and that if I wanted to walk on water, I would get out of the boat.  I do this because, like Grandma Le, I am straining toward what is ahead: the prize for which God has called me heavenward.  I do this because, like Grandma Le, I am endlessly searching for the face of God, and when I’m with my students, I catch glimpses of His love and radiance in their faces.

I invite you to do the same.