Letters to the Editor
Letter to the Editor | A LifeWise Dream
People love to scoff at slippery slope arguments. “That’ll never happen,” they say. But here’s the trick: once you carve out an exception in public education—say, allowing kids to leave class for religious indoctrination just because it technically happens off school grounds—you’ve already buttered the slope. From there it’s just a matter of time before every hobby horse, cult, and crank with a bus shows up demanding equal treatment.
The following is based on a wild dream I had about LifeWise coming to Gig Harbor.
It’s set in 2035, and a reporter was touring a PSD school with the principal
Reporter: “The state test scores in reading and math have collapsed for ten straight years. What’s your plan?”
Principal: “Well, first we’ll form a task force—”
Reporter: “Didn’t you form one last year?”
(Intercom blares: “Red Bus – Competitive Ping Pong Ministry”)
The reporter peers outside, squinting at a long line of old airport shuttles idling.
(Intercom: “Blue Bus – Midday Jiu Jitsu & Goat Yoga.”)
Reporter: “What in the devil is going on out there?”
Principal: “Ah yes, years ago the board decreed that parents could opt their children out of any curriculum activity that conflicted with their personal hobbies, religious views, or vague gut feelings. Very inclusive. Board Policy 2340, which states: “A student, upon the request of a parent, may be excused to participate in religious instruction for a portion of a school day provided the activity is not conducted on school property.”
(Intercom: “Rainbow Bus – Hare Krishna Drum Circle”)
Reporter: “That’s a religious group, isn’t it?”
Principal: “Technically Yes, but they’re delightful. Great tambourine work. Our district policy defines religion as anything with matching T-shirts. Also, they bring snacks.”
Reporter: “I count twelve shuttle buses waiting. Is this… normal?”
Principal: “Oh mercy, no. This is Tuesday light traffic. On Mondays and Fridays, we have so many buses we just close the school and declare it a ‘Student Wellness Field Day.’ Parents love it, and test scores remain low enough to guarantee steady federal ‘Needs Improvement’ funding. It’s a win-win.”
Reporter: “…But surely you track how much class time the kids are missing?”
Principal: “Track? Oh heavens, no. With the state funding cuts, we had to choose between monitoring attendance or buying scented markers for the Social-Emotional Learning mural. You can guess which won.”
Reporter: “So who actually keeps records?”
Principal: “We have one part-time clerk who files the parental opt-out forms into that mountain of steel cabinets over there. Beautiful system. We believe somewhere in drawer 47B there are still three students who never came back from Archery and Origami Club in 2029.”
(Intercom interrupts: “Gold Bus – Cryptocurrency Mining & Fortnite Ministry dismissed.”)
Reporter: “…I think I’ve solved your test score mystery.”
Principal: “Excellent! Would you mind chairing our next task force?”
LifeWise isn’t just taking kids out to sing “Jesus Loves Me” and glue popsicle sticks into crosses. Their own book, During School Hours, makes the agenda clear: this is a campaign to reintroduce religion into public education.
The premise is false. Public schools were never designed to provide religious training—that role has always belonged to families and faith communities. Framing Bible lessons as something “taken away” rewrites history and undermines the constitutional line between church and state.
Some schools have already said no, citing the disruption to actual learning. And it’s easy to see why. The bright red book cover and blaring message of During School Hours aren’t subtle — they spell out a coordinated strategy to smuggle sectarian teaching into the school day under the banner of “release time.”
LifeWise says it themselves: “Decades ago, our nation systematically removed Bible education from the public-school day. With LifeWise Academy, your community can bring it back.”
What they call “bringing it back” is nothing less than a calculated effort to erode the church-state boundary—using public schools as the doorway.
George Young
Gig Harbor