Culture wins.

I just finished a week that has me emotionally exhausted, full of gratitude, and on my knees in prayer. And, it’s Monday. God help me.

We got word last weekend that a woman who has been like a second mother to me is dying of kidney failure. Diabetes has gotten the better of her body, and she is ready to meet Jesus rather than face endless dialysis. My son Gabe has a special bond to this woman and her husband. Gabe spent a lot of time in their home eating mac and cheese and rolling around the back of their Jeep when he should have been buckled in a car seat. But, I’m not telling and neither should you. So, we booked flights to Orlando and said our goodbyes on Thursday when she was still able to tell us stories, make us laugh, and give us warm hugs. Glory. All of it. Pure glory.

Then, my friends from Brazil were in Dallas on a six-hour layover on Friday, and our neighbors wanted to say goodbye to Gabe before he went to college. So, my husband made steaks; Gabe make gnocchi; and I seared some broccoli. Nine people, mutually acquainted, gathered around a table to share food, laughs, and faith in a new heavens and new earth where there are no more goodbyes.

Bags packed and emotions safely stowed away, Gabe and I left early Saturday morning to drive to Hillsdale, Michigan. We arrived Sunday afternoon, quickly unpacked, snarfed down some McDonald’s, and raced to Convocation looking more put together than we felt. Prayers were spoken and anecdotes shared that had me on the verge of breaking down, but I needed to get to the car we had hired to drive me to Detroit without incident. I climbed into a black SUV wearing a Tanya Taylor Dress and tried not to talk to my driver while I stared out the window and let the tears fall.

My husband and my eldest checked in on me, knowing this was going to be a hard drop off. I replied to their text messages until I just needed to have a good cry. And I’m still crying.

Here’s the thing.

There is one thing, one thing, I have given my whole self to, and that is motherhood. When I wanted to get pregnant with Gabe, everything changed for me. I wanted another baby. I wasn’t “open” to a baby or “surprised” by a baby. I wanted Gabe badly because I had started being honest with myself and my husband about what was most important to me. Building a family was most important to me even though I am an ambitious woman. I want fame. I want wealth. But, not as much as I want my kids in my life forever, not as much as I want my family with me in Aslan’s Country.

Everything else I have done has been secondary. I have worked to help pay tuition. I have worked to help put braces on teeth. I have worked because I believe in classical education. But what underscores all of my work is my unshakable conviction that culture wins. It changes families, schools, and communities. I am unabashedly about the transformative power of Western culture because I’ve seen what it has done to build my family and the schools I’ve worked in. All my work in classical education is the result of this conviction, and I won’t apologize for that. Culture doesn’t just count. It wins.

As I’ve been crying tears and tears today, I am comforted by this thought: our family culture is strong and our kids know who they are. They are loved. We have their backs. They have wisdom and virtue, but more importantly, they have an internal compass—what Scruton calls emotional knowledge, what Saint Paul calls the fear and admonition of the Lord. They know how to feel and what to do in all manner of situations because our family culture gave that to them. The Western tradition gave that to them. The Church gave that to them. I can rest easy when a lot of mothers feel anxiety because the culture I worked so hard to cultivate is now doing exactly what culture does. It lives on and gives life where you didn’t plan for it, and it does more than you can hope for or imagine. I gave up a lot of worldly wealth to store up what cannot be taken from me. And it was worth it—every bit of it—worth it.