More than a name tag: how a class reunion taught me important lessons about perseverance and obedience

"I felt a quiet confidence settle in...that every written word, every whispered prayer, every time I kept brushing my fingers across the keyboard when nobody was watching was worthwhile."

I recently attended my 40th high school reunion. (Long live the Gen Xers, and let’s go East High Hurricanes!)

I was so excited about the reunion and sensed it would be a fun weekend. Although there were hundreds in our graduating class, we were a close-knit group. I knew it would be great to see old friends, some I’ve known since kindergarten.

The first night, we had a casual meet and greet at a local restaurant. The second night was business casual—a dinner and dance at the country club. I stood by the registration table with a Sharpie marker in one hand and a sticky name tag in the other. Kristy Townsend Ensor.

Just like that, decades had passed, and memories came flooding back. A lot of life, growth, and hard-earned lessons seemed condensed to those few words on a sticker.

Growing up in school, people sometimes get labeled: the shy girl, the class clown, the star athlete, the cheerleader, the band kid, or the geek, etc. At some reunions, it might be easy to shrink back into the labels which were worn at school. At this reunion though, those labels seemed to have disappeared. It was almost magical. The name tags helped us remember, but they weren’t a reflection of who we were but rather a chance for a new introduction to who we’ve become.

That second night as we mingled, laughed, and caught up, someone stopped me and said, “You wrote another book, didn’t you? A children’s book, right?” Then another guy, who happened to have been one of the most popular kids in school, smiled and chimed in, “You’ve written lots of good stuff! I follow you.” Then, something in me shifted. I suddenly felt accomplished. I wasn’t just someone’s classmate; I was seen for who I am now—A WRITER.

Later that evening, they presented superlatives. Some were light-hearted. Who had the best hair? Who was the most changed? Who would most likely be voted to run the HOA in their neighborhood? Then there were more serious ones including, Who is the most kindhearted? I was surprised when my name was called for that one. I was humbled and felt honored. I elbowed my husband and joked, “See, I am nice!”

Another superlative category was: Who has the most interesting careers? There are many successful people in our class: doctors, nurses, engineers, wealth management advisors, pharmacists, physical therapists, IT specialists, and others. I was so happy, though, when they recognized a classmate who has been a police officer with the Fort Worth, Texas police department for thirty-five years. They also recognized a traveling firefighter, a former pitcher for the California Angels, and then to my surprise again, my name was called once more, “Kristy Ensor—author.”

Being an author is a lonely profession. We spend a lot of time alone pouring ourselves into words. We string sentences together and write stories that may never see the light of day. Our work may never receive any accolades or payment. We are often consumed with doubts about our writing and the sting of rejection. We second guess whether our work matters, and sometimes we may even wonder, Did God REALLY call me to write?

I must admit it felt good to be recognized at the reunion; I felt validated. To me, though, the title of “author” wasn’t about status or success. It was about perseverance, obedience, and legacy.

My classmates didn’t know the amount of pressure I’ve put on myself, or the struggles I’ve had as a writer. They didn’t see the messy drafts and all of the long hours of rewrites and editing.