Dear sir, I am.

There’s an old fable that I love that takes place about a hundred years ago.

At the time, the world was in disrepair. Racial and social inequities plagued society. Most of the West was on the brink of war. Diseases like polio were becoming so ubiquitous, summer outbreaks were commonplace and, yes, even quarantines were implemented.

The story goes that the Times London, so concerned about where Western civilization was headed, sent a letter asking all the greatest minds – writers, philosophers, clergy and scientists – to respond to the simple questions, “What’s wrong with the world, and how do we fix it?”

Some accounts suggest that many wrote back with remedies and recommendations, creating a sort of hodgepodge thought collection like you might see today on social media.

Theologian and staunch Catholic G.K. Chesterton, though, simply responded with the following:

It’s an interesting take.

Chesterton, by all accounts, was a model of what was right with the world.

Someone who was humble, loved others and served in his community. A world of Chesterton’s undoubtedly would’ve solved many problems.

And though I don’t think Chesterton’s humbling response was supposed to be a form of self-deprecation, I think he understood something that’s been lost these past hundred years.

That any change we hope to see has to start with the individual.

Or, as philosopher and poet Michael Joseph Jackson put it, “I’m starting with the man in the mirror.”

Here’s another take, by writer Stephan Pastis:

The same is true for anything in life, including education.

It’s easy to blame the system, state testing, politicians or even school leaders. It’s easy to demand those things change.

No one ever said it was going to be easy.

But we control what we can control.

Several years ago, I worked with a local university to rewrite my curriculum from scratch. I wasn’t allowed to use any textbook or pre-prepared program. Every resource had to be authentic.

It was awesome.

And exhausting.

But totally worth it.

I remember, though, talking to my assisting professor one day, because my department chair – who was incredibly supportive – wanted me to streamline a bit more with the department and use common assessments.

The problem was that I didn’t teach to those assessments, instead following the National Standards. I expected my students to show mastery with interpersonal, presentational and interpretive activities, not rote memorization and regurgitation.

My professor’s suggestion was to do everything I was doing. Then, the day before the common assessment (test), do rote practice activities.

It was terrible.

And boring.

But my students did well anyway.

Then, I could assess them in a more meaningful, practical way.

I could’ve complained. I didn’t.

I could’ve given up. I didn’t.

But I did try to model what I felt was best for students while working within the system I was forced to work within.

My writing of this isn’t meant to create a sense of guilt or shame. It isn’t meant to make others feel like they aren’t doing enough.

Because, odds are, if you’re reading this, you’re already doing your part.

Instead, my encouragement is that you keep it up.

People will notice.

And when they do, invite them along.

I think Chesterton would approve of you making disciples.