Dear President George W. Bush,

In your final address to the nation last night you said , “I will always be honored to carry a title that means more to me than any other: citizen of the United States of America.” But it is my honor to write these thoughts while you officially and exclusively hold the other title you have worn for eight years: the President of the United States.

A few hours ago you stepped aboard Marine One to spend your last weekend at Camp David. At the top of those steps you turned and waved at the crowd as you have done through the years, and I was pleased to see that in spite of the weight of your two terms, you still seem very comfortable in your own skin, and your smile still radiates from something deep within.

It was the same smile my wife and I saw when we met you in Iowa in the summer of ’99 (when I considered your's and your father's presidencies the perfect bookends to hold shut the pulp non-fiction of the eight years in between). My daughter Kim and I saw that smile again as we visited with you in 2000.

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We’ve both aged more than eight years since that photo was taken, but I am glad to see that the unspeakable burdens of the Presidency have not taken your Texas smile. It is the perfect complement to the ever-gracious grin of your beautiful wife, Laura.

Of course, not much about any presidency can be defined in terms of smiles. There are far more moments where other emotions prevail. I'll never forget that September day when I stood with co-workers around a TV in our school, far from where any students would see. We watched in horror as the first tower fell, knowing that the second would soon follow. Then the Pentagon was hit, and we collectively held our breath all day wondering “what next?” That night and in the days to follow, my focus and jaw was set like the thousands who enlisted after December 7, 1941.

This visceral urge to fight and die (if need be) in defense of one's home is the untapped (and perhaps uncivilized) energy behind all civilizations. And as illogical as it may seem, I had a secret impulse to drop all other duties and commit fully to the yet-undeclared cause that drew this nation together in those dark days. When you addressed the nation that week, we saw the same desire to defend and preserve, and in your words we were reminded that our duty was to carry on--not to abandon the reasons we wake up, the people we serve, the routines that define our lives, but to carry on unafraid.

We first heard this call to carry on when you stood on that heap of smoldering rubble in Manhattan. A man you’d just then met was hunkered safely under your left arm. A bullhorn in your right hand helped hide your brimming eyes, and with steady, unscripted resolve, you reassured the nation that America would rise from those ashes. And in time we did. So much so that many have forgotten what they felt that day, and I fear what it will take to make them fully appreciate the seven years you oversaw with no other attack on our homeland.

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You also warned that we were in a different kind of war, one unlike those waged in the past. This war was driven less by our enemy’s desire to win and more by their intent to make free people live in fear. It was then you understood and helped us understand that only people who know true freedom have the strength to rise up against those who would use fear and terror as a weapon against the world.

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In many ways, you stood alone among world leaders in the effort to help the people of Iraq become a free people, but you were not alone. You were surrounded by the strength of legions, brave fighting men and women who were proud to call you their Commander in Chief. I have family and former students proudly serving there. Only time will tell if their tremendous efforts and progress in Iraq, largely unreported by the press, will continue under different leadership. If not, we know who will be blamed. If so, we know that that achievement will somehow be pinned on the chests of those who did the least to make it happen. I believe the latter will be true, and I admire that you care more about that hope of freedom for others than you do about a mention of your name.

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It is man--not time--that masks the truth. As the future ever-merges with the past, history sometimes reveals what historians failed to see.

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For most of the country, that day in New York City was your defining moment, but there is another moment that few know about that also defines the George W. Bush I will always remember.

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It was a tragedy of a different sort (involving smaller airplanes) that occurred just four months before 9-11. I’m reminded of it each school day when I walk past a small memorial garden outside our school’s front door. In April, a missionary friend of mine was shot down in Peru. His wife Roni was a teacher in our school years before they left for the field. I had spoken with them outside my office door just a few months before as they proudly showed us their new baby girl Charity. As you know, in that preventable-but-accidental “shoot down” both Roni and Charity Bowers were instantly killed by the same bullet. The plane crash-landed into the Amazon River. Jim Bowers and his son Cory miraculously survived.

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Later that summer, you invited Jim and Cory to the Oval Office. During the visit, you asked secret service and all others to leave the room and you escorted your guests to a small study off the office (a room made infamous during the Clinton impeachment hearings). On a table in that room was an open Bible. You told Jim that since your first week in office you used that room for your daily Bible reading and time of prayer. You asked Jim and Cory if they’d join you that morning. After reading a passage aloud, the three of you prayed together. Understandably, Jim who is a very quiet guy, just listened with bowed head as you prayed for him and his son during their sad loss.

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Jim sent an email about it the next day. He did not dwell on this detail, but I was struck by your deliberate and honorable use of that small room. Through the years, I‘ve heard many other stories about your shared faith in quiet ways, one-on-one, with soldiers or those who grieve their loss. You‘ve openly wept with those who weep as Romans 12:15 says we‘re to do.

To understand how a President governs, people must first know what governs his heart--not when the cameras are rolling--but behind closed doors. What governs your heart shows when you reach for Laura’s hand; it shows when you speak of your father; it shows in your brimming eyes and in the smile you brought to and have kept through your presidency; it shows in the respect you have shown for the office you held and in the gracious words you've used in passing that office to your successor. We share your hope for his success in all that's best for this nation, and we pray that he in time will more fully understand the difference between cool confidence and the humble strength that comes in knowing one's own frailty and the feel of the White House floor on bended knees.

Thank you, Mr. President.

.Sincerely,

.Tom K.,