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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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.

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.

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.

This is your last warning, and our call to arms.

No more shall I grab one of the size 13s from Prince Charming’s stash and smash you despite bringing down the drapes.

Never again shall I bring a mug of blueberry tea to my lips in the bathroom, only to dump most of it over my(just showered)self as you dive bomb me and hide behind the vanity.

Under no circumstances shall continue the workout of ducking while simultaneously closing the microwave, grabbing something flat, and praying that you’re crunching flat as I slam it down, all the while singing and laughing so the kids don’t start screaming too.

There shall be no more stifled screams, ranting emails, tempered tweets.

I’m finished with the ducking, the pouncing, the rationalization of you as a fellow creation of God.

The end is NOW for nighmarish wasp nest considerations, movie references, tolerance training.

Though we welcome you and your bug-killing talents in the barns, in the sheds, in the trees, and, really, anywhere outside, we can no longer count you as a house guest.

You might think I call him Prince Charming for a reason (and you’re right) but to you can call him General Assassination. I’ve sent him the message, and the strategy is being plotted and planned as I type.

Your days here are numbered, and the number is very, very, VERY small.

Goodbye, wasps.

I won’t miss you.

– Sarah

You’ve gone from being “Merdiff” to Yue-yue to Yueie to Noonie and Deet-deet. I have no idea where your sister comes up with these nicknames…but they fit. Somehow, the radiance of your smile, lighting up the family so easily, is captured in your sister screeching “Nooooonieeeeee” as she runs into your room in the morning. I suspect you two know more about these things than I do.

I’m a big fan of siblings – your father has five of them and I have four – but I had no idea how much FUN you would bring to our role as parents (or, really, how much work!). But then, I’m not the sort of person who would have a clue…babies aren’t really something I had every planned on, and the thought of babies still sends a little shiver down my spine (though I’m much more amenable to them, having held my own).

You’re still contained by my arms, and I’m still your preferred comfort in times of pain. You’re not walking…yet. It won’t be long though – you’re starting to let go and stand there, looking up at me with that smile full of teeth.

It’s going fast, my little blonde baby, but not too fast…if you grew slower, I fear my patience wouldn’t take it. I’m trying to savor it, cherish it, capture it. I’m trying to remember the weight of your head nestled on my shoulder as it’s happening now, so that someday, when you run ahead of me, trusting me to keep up, I can recall it.

A year ago, I was holding you for the first time, amazed again at how much God loves me. I gazed down at you, and the pain of delivery, the discomfort of pregnancy, the inconveniences that are an inevitable part of motherhood – it was all as nothing. All that mattered was the small fingers wrapped around me, the bundled life God entrusted to me.

You are so very different from your sister, and yet…and yet you are so very similar. I watch the two of you and it’s possible to let go of so much of the small petty parts of who I am. I listen to you squeal in delight or shriek because of an infraction, and I wonder how wide I can smile in the coming years, watching you; I wonder how big the pool of tears will be, how deep my heart will grow.

It’s been a wonderful year, my little one. I’ve looked back over the year in pictures, and I’ve been reminded of how much I love your father. I have one picture where he’s on the couch, holding you, with Babby snuggled up, and he’s gazing down. The camera captured his look perfectly – it’s the look he gives you daily, on returning from work or seeing you first thing in the morning or, really, at any point when you call out to him.

I love you, my sweet baby, even though you’re not really a baby anymore.

With love,
Your mother

There’s no escaping it – at some point, you have to deal with Difficult People. Janie might not have any trouble with them, and Louisa may find them a joy, but for YOU they will be the very definition of trial and tribulation.

Maybe it’s a personality conflict, or a difference of opinion, or one strong-willed mind against another. Perhaps you’ll discover them within your own family, and you might find yourself smarting from the wounds they inflict, knowingly or not.

They could be in your workplace or right next door. They may pop up in those you thought were bosom buddies. For that matter, you might even recognize a tendency in YOURSELF to BE one every once in a while!

In my years, I’ve come across a number of Difficult People. (Some will no doubt tell you many stories of my exploits AS one.) Most recently, as I’ve muddled through a gray haze of confusion and anger, I realized something that I’m sharing here so that, once you’ve forgotten that I don’t know anything, it may help you one day.

Consider for a moment the Difficulty these people are causing you. Hold it up to your Heavenly Father’s eye level. Then sit down at his feet and let HIM worry about it. (I find it helpful to do this in front of a crucifix, where I’m reminded of what he went through for ALL of us.)

I know it’s not easy, my sweet, but praying for these Difficult People – spawn of Satan though you may feel them to be at the present – will free you. God has bigger shoulders than you, and gentle hands. Let him bear your Difficult People problems while he holds you as you calm down.

It’s not a roll-your-eyes-kumbaya moment, either. Just try praying for them and see if it doesn’t help. You may never know how much those Difficult People NEEDED you to do that!

Love,
Your mother