Confession of a Montana Headmaster

Confession is a difficult thing. We talk to our kids about the importance of confessing our faults and failures, yet how often do we conceal that which brings us shame?

In the Scripture, Jesus calls for confessions of our shortcomings, and in his own aptly named book, St. Augustine summarizes multiple iterations of familiar ones for us by way of his own life and writing.

I’m thankful that God’s grace and mercy are waiting for us when we confess, and because of this assurance, I have a particular confession I need to make. It is this:

After four years of living in Bozeman, I have never been through Yellowstone National Park.

I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t blame you. How could I? As someone who teaches “truth, goodness, and beauty” and leads your kids in singing hymns like “This Is My Father’s World,” how is it possible to live with myself?

The question is valid, and the honest answer is that it’s been difficult. I’ve rationalized (“I’m too busy”); I’ve made excuses (“There are too many people”); I’ve lived in fear (“I don’t want to end up on the news having died one of any number of unnatural deaths in Yellowstone”). I’m not trying to justify myself here, but I suppose that I am, and I’m sorry for that. Forgive me.

As part of a classical Christian school in Montana, you deserve a Headmaster who can speak firsthand of the glories of geysers and the mysteries of mudpots, of this strange and surreal place that God has carved out of His creation.

So, with Fall Break upon us later this week, I’m going through Yellowstone on Saturday. I’m shelving my self-important sense that someone might need me and letting go of my introvert inhibitions that paralyze my park intentions. Instead, I’m going to enjoy as much of God’s handiwork as I can with my family, as well as take plenty of pictures (but only from a safe and reasonable distance from wildlife and other natural phenomena).

These are my Fall Break plans, and I want you to know about them so you can hold me accountable. My wife and daughters (God bless them) are cautiously hopeful and looking forward to helping me take this big step. I confess I’m nervous, but it will be alright.

Who knows? Perhaps my step of faith might inspire you and your family to take one of your own?

Enjoy Fall Break.