letters

A Letter to My Newly Confirmed Niece

November 10, 2011 By Sarah Reinhard Leave a Comment

Dear Ree,

There are some who will tell you that you’re now an adult in the eyes of the Church.

There’s also an underlying expectation that you’re “done” now that you’re confirmed.

Though there’s truth in both of those, I hope you don’t fall for the misleading lies beneath them both.

You are an adult, in that you have received both of the Sacraments of Initiation, Baptism and Confirmation. You are a full-fledged member of the Body of Christ, and what was started in your Baptism when you were a wee baby has been fulfilled by the full gifts of the Holy Spirit in Confirmation.

Your formal classes in religious education might be finished, but don’t let go of the desire to learn. There’s no shortage of information available to you in the last 2000-plus years of our Christian faith, but even more, don’t hesitate to continue to try to learn to be close to God.

As the bishop told you at your Confirmation Mass, don’t forget your dignity. You’ll be challenged many times in your life to let this slide: don’t give in.

Being confirmed, many years ago, used to be seen as being accepted into an army. Grammy said she was called a “soldier for Christ.” You are part of that army now, and it’s a very real war that’s going on, many times beneath the noses of people who would rather ignore the important issues in favor of what’s convenient and easy.

You will face difficult choices in the years to come. Do not ever be afraid to turn to God and, as you shake your fist at him, throw yourself into his arms.

Just as he has carried you safely through hurdles before, he will do so again.

We do not ever understand the full extent of how God is at work in our lives. Life, though not easy, is filled with many opportunities for God’s grace to work in us and through us.

May the Holy Spirit remain close to you and may you always have the courage to say Yes to God, just as Mama Mary and Saint Lucy did. Turn to your guardian angel and your special patrons in your dark hours of need and know that we, too, will be here for you to help guide you, to the best of our ability, back to God’s loving arms.

Love,

Aunt Sarah

Image courtesy of my sister-in-law. Pictured: me, Ree, and my husband’s brother

Filed Under: family, letters Tagged With: family, letter, pictures, sacraments

A Letter to My Dad Upstairs

June 19, 2011 By Sarah Reinhard 1 Comment

Dear God,

I don’t always think of You on Father’s Day, but you sure are on my mind a lot. You’re the first one I should go to, Father, with all those cares and concerns. You’re the one who’s supposed to be driving; you’re the one who knows what’s going on. Right? (Yeah, that’s me again, doubting You. I’m that sort of daughter. It’s funny how you keep hugging me and welcoming me back, as little trust as I show.)

So this Father’s Day, I thought I’d send You a quick little note, let You know I couldn’t do this life thing without You. Those days when I’m at my wits’ end? Those times when I’m full of myself and then shot down to pure humiliation? Those moments of utter despair? There You are. Every single time. Without fail.

You never let me down, Father. I show up at Mass, prepared or not, ready or not, and there they are, all those graces You promised and always deliver.

And despite all my failings and sins, You send me the best sorts of presents. I’m overcome with blessings and how often do I say thanks? I’m not even good about being excited about that one little hour a week we spend alone together.

Father, You’re the best. So on this Father’s Day, when I’m enjoying that great guy You sent my way and the children who are the reason we call him “Daddy” in these parts, I’m going to try to keep You in the front of my thoughts. I’m going to try to say prayers for those who need You today, for those whose fathers aren’t with them or for those who don’t have fathers. (Of course, I’ll need Your help with this – and isn’t that just like me?)

Thanks, Father. For all of it: Your Son, Your Mother, Your Church, and all the little flowers in my life that bloom into the happiness of life with You in it.

Love,

Sarah

Modified slightly from the post originally posted on June 17, 2007

Filed Under: Faith, letters Tagged With: Faith, fatherhood, letter

To My Child

January 20, 2011 By Sarah Reinhard 2 Comments

You place your small hand in mine, without a second thought as to where I’ll lead you or what I’ll do. You have such complete confidence in me, far more than I have in myself.

I had no idea our relationship would be like this. In fact, the idea of you terrified me at the beginning. I was excited, yes, but not nearly as much as I was unsure.

It wasn’t that long ago that I would have never considered motherhood. I sure would have been surprised to see myself at home with you, not pursuing a career of some sort. I do work, yes, but I count the dishes and laundry among the writing and designing.

The miracle of you shocks me with what it reveals about me. I had no idea that taking your small hand would be so much fun. I didn’t expect that it would teach me more about life than two college degrees and countless books. I continue to marvel at how I can juggle things that would have seemed ridiculous, absurd, and unlikely even a few years ago.

You are a marvel: though you have a set opinion, you also have complete trust. While you create endless chaos, you also surround me with unconditional love. Though you have answers for the most preposterous questions, you never fail to ask the most insightful riddles about life.

I’ve learned more in six years as a mother than I did in six years getting two different college degrees. The diploma I’m earning now will be displayed at family dinners years from now, when you and your siblings are filling the house with more laughter and memories.

Thank you for your small hand in mine. You’re leading me down the path to better living, one adventure at a time.

Love,

Mom

image source

Filed Under: letters, Motherhood Tagged With: letter, Motherhood, reflection

To My Little Brothers

June 21, 2009 By Sarah Reinhard Leave a Comment

Dear Little Brother,

This year, you celebrate your first Father’s Day. You’re pretty new at it too. But it’s still YOUR day, for the first time. As your big sister, with quite a few years on you (as you never fail to remind me), I can’t help but stand back and smile at you.

I’m proud of you, you know. You’re a daddy now, one of the special society of parents. You are now part of an elite group of individuals who are changing the world by bringing life into it. You have become a member of that part of society which embraces the very best kind of change.

It’s scary, I know. But isn’t it great? Don’t you look down at your son’s face and just…marvel? Do you ever find yourself holding him and forgetting what life was ever like before he cannonballed into it?

I remember when Elizabeth was born. All of a sudden, though I had known it before, I gained an appreciation for what a great guy I had been married. How did I end up with him? And how, exactly, did we get the chance to be involved in this new life?

I’ve never lost that feeling. With each passing day, with each new child, I only get a better glimpse, a more complete picture, a finer zoom on just how extravagantly I am blessed.

You are now married to the world’s most beautiful woman. She is the mother of your children and that changed body of hers was home to that bundle of joy in your arms. Isn’t it amazing? I once heard a father exclaim that there was nothing more perfect than his wife’s body, with its scars from childbirth. That statement made me cry.

I’m married to a man who agrees with it, you see.

And I suspect you know just what makes him say it with such passion.

Enjoy these moments, and don’t dwell too long on the short nights, the crazy schedules, the sacrifices you are making and will continue to make. On Father’s Day, remember to look heavenward and thank your Father for all that you have, holding them close as you do.

I’m so proud of you, brother. You’ve taken a big step and your life will never be the same. Yeah, you’ve heard that before, but now you’re living the reality…and it’s not so bad, is it? (If it is, then grab a beer and pick up the phone. Let me remind you why it’s not.)

I love you, brother. Happy Father’s Day!

Love,
Sarah

Filed Under: family, letters

A Letter to My New Nephew

May 17, 2009 By Sarah Reinhard 1 Comment

Dear Gabriel,

You have the name of an angel. And as I held you yesterday, forgetting all about my dislike of babies in the face of your petite perfection, I had another glimpse at what heaven holds for each of us.

The angel Gabriel, came to the Virgin Mary and asked her if she would accept the mission that would bring about our salvation. Looking down at you in my arms in the hospital room, I felt the power of her “yes,” felt again the many opportunities in my life to say “yes” to what God asks of me.

You are my younger brother’s first child. I marvel at myself, at the tears that flowed when I heard of your existence inside your mom and the tears that flowed again when I heard of your birth. Why, exactly, was I crying? (I was sure it wasn’t just because I’m female!)

I imagined you growing bigger, running and jumping through your childhood, perhaps having children of your own. Life seemed not so much a circle as a long ribbon of possibility as your small hands worked their way out of the swaddle.

I don’t usually hold new babies, but you, you are my brother’s baby. I watched him in his new role as your daddy. I heard his voice gentle towards your mom, and I saw affirmation of my favorite part of birth — the strengthening of a love by the insertion of a new person.

May the angels who surround you still continue to watch over you, precious Gabriel, and may your parents know the joy that is planted in persisting through sleepless nights, the reward that is reaped in overcoming the uncertainties of parenthood, the blessing that is found in the small hand now in theirs.

With love,
Aunt Sarah

Filed Under: family, letters

Saying It Again, Because It’s Still True

May 10, 2009 By Sarah Reinhard Leave a Comment

I originally wrote this letter to my husband two years ago on Mother’s Day. Last year, I modified and gave it to him again. And this year, lucky guy, he gets it again, with the appropriate edits to make it true for our life right now. (The beauty of it is that he won’t mind. Not a bit.)
–
Dearest Husband,

On Mother’s Day, I always think of you. We haven’t celebrated it very much yet – only four times – but I feel like it is our day, the day we made possible. Actually, I think of it as the day you and God conspired to make me the center of. This Mother’s Day, as our daughters run and jump and play, I can’t help but think about how I was never going to have children at all. That time seems so far away, and yet there is a part of me that remembers so well where my mind and heart were. There is a part of me that has tucked away the pain and the anger I was growing – tucked it away into a glass exhibit case, so that I may come back to it and see how far God has brought me. I look at this exhibit, which includes many things from my past, whenever I’m questioning what I’m “doing” with my life, whenever I have doubts about where I’m “going” in my life, whenever I wonder if I can do this thing.

Motherhood is a gift God gave me through you, dear husband. After I decided, with your gentle love, that perhaps I could be a mother, I thought for sure that I wouldn’t be able to be a mother – whether that would mean fertility problems or other challenges, I wasn’t sure, but I was convinced in my heart of the impossibility. Surely I was not worthy to join the ranks of mothers. Mothers, after all, are good people, people you hold up to the light and admire, the way you do a diamond. Mothers are amazing and resilient and nurturing.

How could I be any of these things?

In the last four-and-a-half years, God has led me, and you have held me, as I have found the answers. I’m no hero, and I’m none of the wonderful things I attribute to others (at least, not in my own eyes or from my vantage point in the wreckage of my own head), but I’m doing it. I’m a mother, thanks to the grace of God and the love of my husband.

Thank you, dear husband, for joining me on this journey, for encouraging me to stay strong, for bringing the miracle of life so intimately into my own.

With love,

Sarah

Filed Under: letters, Motherhood

Online Retreat Week 26: Letter to Jesus

March 8, 2009 By Sarah Reinhard Leave a Comment

The Week 26 guide for the Online Retreat in Everyday Life is here.

Dear Jesus,

Let me listen again. You are asking me to let go of the idea that I can somehow master complete control over my life. You invite me to trust you more and let you help me with my struggles. Every time I am willing to admit that I don’t have to do it alone, I move closer to embracing the limitations that bring me closer to you. Every time I accept the humility of my own imperfections, am I not gaining myself, instead of the world that rejects you?

From this week’s In These or Similar Words

As I’ve traveled with you this week, Jesus, the first full week of Lent and one in a string of difficult weeks that I’ve had lately, these words have hit home.

Embracing my cross, following your example, sounds so nice, so ideal, so boring…until I attempt it…and fail.

And fail.

I have to let go, don’t I? I’m not the one in control. Though I understand it at an intellectual level (or tell myself I do), I am only just beginning to grasp it as a reality, as something that is more than just a nice concept, as a way of life.

This exercise in trusting you, Jesus, is far from boring. In fact, it has me well outside my comfort zone.

I thought I had this all figured out. Come to find out that, ahem, I don’t. Not at all.

So thanks, Jesus, for patiently waiting for me. Thanks for explaining it all again…and again…and again. Thanks for those kind souls who have picked me up this week (and last week, and the week before that), for the friends who have hugged me, for the people who have prayed for me.

I am at a crossroads in my life, dear friend, Jesus. I can’t continue my life the way it has been and that frightens me. I know I want to change, but I struggle with this alone, until I remember that you will be with me in this. It means giving up control and trusting you. It means accepting that you are my Lord, and giving up the gods of perfection and success I have followed for so long.

From this week’s In These or Similar Words

You’re never farther away than my elbow, are you? You’re never so far in front of me that I have to run to catch up, or so far behind that I have to slam on the brakes. You’re walking with me, beside me, hand-in-hand. You’ve been here before, though, and you know the way. You know what Abba Father has planned. You know his will.

Show me, Jesus. Show me.

Help me to mean it when I pray “Thy will, not my will.”

Love,
Sarah

Image credit and some background: I had to do some research to find out who did this drawing. It turns out that Jean Keaton gets the credit. You can see the entire collection of pencil drawings here (it’s also worth a click to her website). I saw these years ago in a forwarded email. I saved them to my hard drive and was delighted when, last year, we found them at our local Catholic bookstore. We bought a print for Toddlerina’s godfather, who’s also our parish priest, and then Prince Charming brought tears to my eyes last Christmas by having it unexpectedly show up, wrapped, in our house. It hangs in our playroom, and is my constant reminder of my priorities…and God’s priorities.