A reflection on Leah’s journey in The Poisonwood Bible and how open-mindedness, cross-cultural connection, and being willing to be changed can reshape our lives. Featuring wisdom from Anatole, a personal story from Korea, and a Beatles lyric that ties it all together.
On Open-Mindedness, Love, and Letting a New World Change You
I just finished The Poisonwood Bible, and what stayed with me most was Leah’s journey.
Not the dramatic death, or the fire-and-brimstone father, or the sweeping commentary on colonialism — though all of that is there. What lingered was the slow, steady way Leah let herself be undone and remade. How she walked into a life she didn’t expect, and chose to stay.
She started as the daughter most loyal to her father’s gospel. She ended as a woman loyal to a deeper truth — one she found in the Congo, in herself, and in Anatole. Leah adapted to a world that was entirely foreign and often unwelcoming. And in doing so, she discovered a life that was real, rooted, and true.
What changed her was Anatole — not because he saved her, but because he saw her. He asked honest questions. He didn’t force her to become anything — he invited her to see. Their connection wasn’t flashy or romanticized. It was real. It was built on honesty, respect, and shared purpose.
That kind of open-mindedness — the willingness to let go of what you think you know and let something else move you — that’s rare. And it’s everything.
It reminded me of my time in Korea. Some Americans stayed on base and complained about the country, never stepping off post. Never learning a word of the language. Never seeing what was right in front of them. But the few of us who ventured out — who said “annyeong haseyo” and meant it — found a world that was rich, warm, and wildly alive. Even a small attempt to connect was met with joy. Korea changed me. It made me feel less “American,” and more human.
I hope more people let themselves be changed like that. I hope more of us choose to stay, wherever we are — to ask better questions, to listen longer, to love deeper. That’s what Leah did.
What changed Leah wasn’t just the hardship of life in the Congo — it was Anatole’s questions. His calm, grounded way of seeing the world gave her space to reconsider everything she thought she understood. One moment that stayed with me:
“Don’t try to make life a mathematics problem with yourself in the center and everything coming out equal. When you are good, bad things can still happen. And if you are bad, you can still be lucky.”
— Anatole
That’s the whole game right there. Leah had been taught a moral equation: do good, get good. Be bad, be punished. But Anatole had lived through colonialism, imprisonment, loss — and still believed in love, justice, and truth. He didn’t simplify the world to protect himself from it. He faced it. And he helped Leah do the same.
I believe too many people are unhappy because they live like they’re the center of the world. But when you finally step back and realize you’re not — when you decenter yourself — something opens up. You see that you’re just one small part in a vast, tangled web of people, places, and experiences. That we’re all connected. And that fulfillment comes not from what you get, but from where you give — in quiet, genuine ways.
“Good” and “bad” start to lose their grip when you give each result the perspective of time. What felt like disaster might turn out to be the start of something deeper. What seemed like success might fade. The math never adds up — and that’s not the point. The point is to live, to connect, to love without keeping score.
Or, as the Beatles put it:
“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
How I’m approaching the fall baseball season — and what I’ll tell my players on Day 1. Teaching effort, mindset, accountability, emotional discipline, and how to handle failure with resilience.
A Mediterranean-style bowl with grilled chicken, King City Pink Beans, creamy yogurt sauce, crispy pita, and Caprese Remix. Fresh, herby, and perfect al fresco.
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