for him.

dear sweet children,

i am twenty-two and at home. i am five months from twenty-three and will probably still be here. i am living off of the gratitude of my parents. and i am thankful. they have poured me milk and have left me the back parking when i am out late. i am typing on this computer because of them. i have internet access because of them. but it is difficult sharing a home with two people who don't much like each other anymore. who have suffered difficult lives. who have offended each other. who have shut one another out. who cannot hold a conversation about much.

when comparing you to your father i want it to be good things. you are creative, intelligent, curious, adventurous, spontaneous, goofy, philosophical - just like him! you honor people the way he does. you have a rough sort of affection like he does. they might not be those specific things but they will be good things. you will surely mimic all his nettlesome habits but i will not rattle on about those. i will correct where correction is needed, but i will praise you for the good things. i want you to know that i love your father. and that life and marriage can be a tumble at times but that i am for him. i want you to see - even when you are twenty-two - that we work with eachother not against eachother. i will share my bankaccount and not just my bed with the man i marry, the man you know as your father. trust, sweet ones, trust will be something tangible and bright. it will make us resilient. we will be a team who makes decisions together. we will hold each other and you will see by the way he tickles my sides and the way i trace the backs of his ear to his neck that we are a team. you will see by the way we argue. and the way we make up.

at twenty-two i want to be honest with you about the road. i want to confide in you that the road is this or that. i am not sure of the road yet. i am not on it; i am not married. but i know some things of importance. and i have some hopes for what it will be like, even on those bad terrible days where i'd rather be in alaska than right where i am. which is saying a lot, because i shiver easily.

with love,
a twenty-two year old who is praying tenderness into her parents, who is showing love to them when they cannot show it to each other, who is hopeful for the future.

invite them both.

dear little ones,

i do hope you aren't holding a grudge because of the silence between this letter and the last. look over it, please. i said some things about being brave and change and about my job with children - daycare kids. i am going on my third year at this school. i don't get paid as much as others but i enjoy it so. i am in the thick of my second summer day camp (theatre camp included) and will be running the whole daycare sha-bang with alexis next year.

i wonder if you know her. if she knows you. i hope.

one day there will be a time when you experience a spell of stillness.  as if the future is painfully bashful or playfully hiding or proudly ignoring you. and like most things, you will be both thankful and worried at once. thankful because you need a break. worried because you wonder what comes next. invite them both. let gratitude loose you to learn new things and forge good friendships and know who you are and what you like and what you, quite frankly, don't like. but never let thankfulness slip into entitlement or complete frivolity (i say complete, because sometimes to do lists must be left unchecked for the sake of your own humanity). and let worries motivate you to be responsible and practical and frugal and wise. but never let them immobilize you 'neath the weight of impossibilities. the bills will be paid. things will get done.

*

truth be told, i am tucked so tight in this lull i wonder if it might ever pass. if you get these letters, it is proof that it does (if only to interrupt my life again in a few years). in grade school you press towards middle school. in middle school you aspire to high school. in high school you plan for college. and sometimes the schooling continues. and sometimes definite long term plans unfold. but i have no masters program in mind. and there is no full-time career beckoning me any time soon. and so i am, in some eyes, plodding forward for no good reason. i am aimless, in the worst sense. the lull is a euphemism for doing nothing. this, of course means being no one. but can i let you in on a secret? i run at a canyon three-four times a week. and this saturday i am officially learning to ride a bike. and i might just take up swimming too. i am in a book club with friends and loved ones. people i share meals with and couches with. people i watch redboxes with (do we do that?). and i am committing eighty percent of each paycheck to loans. i am paying for my own voice instruction. oh! and since i've graduated, i have become quite the cook! i plan services and lead intermitently on sunday mornings at a church i can walk to. and i am learning about life from these people. about being generous with your home and time and money. and i still play mancala with children. uno. shark attack (duh). hide and go seek tag. sticks and rocks tic-tac-toe.  jenga. i still cook with them and make books with them and organize relay races. i still diffuse conflict and teach them about forgiveness and kindness and about being a good sport. and for the first time, i get to teach them specific bible lessons. i get to pray with them. i get to walk them through lifting their hands and kneeling and dancing and worship. i get to see them close their eyes. and know whatever is happening in that room between them and God is real.

there are times when i am convinced that i am doing nothing. because, shocker, there is no goal to be fulfilled in the near future. but, little ones, i am building a life. with thanksgiving and worry. with bravery. and with joy.

sincerely,
a twenty-two year old who enjoys reading and writing and singing and the local church and children but has no idea where she will end up.

*i think the spell looks like this. do i play? do i sit? do i walk? and if i do, to where?

daycare kids.

dear children-who-i-will-send-off-to-school-one-day,

psst.

i have my first real job since fall of senior year in high school. and i work with children. daycare kids. you might be one. i was one. waiting for grandma to show up as i make bracelets and play mancala. ahem. beat everyone at mancala.

i've actually had this job for nine months now and i love these children. even when they have attitude and would rather watch Matilda for the hundreth time than make crafts or build towers out of legos. we play freeze tag, four corners. Jenga is a hit. so is soccer, now that it is warmer out. so is painting, but the paint is strong and opening the doors for ventilation is a must. snack time consists of dry cereal, chips, pretzels, or popcorn. we've had smores once or twice. and we did have Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies. your grandfather bought sweets all the time. i ate these growing up. you might have never eaten them. i don't want you to eat ice cream three times out of the week. or have Little Debbie snacks at lunchtime. i want to make you food. or try at least. pack you good things. and always give you extras for after school. well, if you stay after school.

i haven't written to you for a while. life has been like a teetertotter.

one day we will talk about change.

and how this particular time in my life required courage.

i have to be brave.

for myself. for others. and as time will tell, for you.

i have to choose life. a different sort of life than i ever imagined.

and it is scary.

but when you are scared. we can be brave together, yes?

sincerely,

a twenty-one year old almost grown-up

unsorted socks

dear children whose toes i will play "this little piggy..." with,

today i washed all of my clothes. and there wasn't one thing left in the dirty hamper! you probably don't believe me because normally i have dirty clothes in the hamper and on my floor. but i promise. i washed dark clothes. light clothes. white clothes. and even some blankets (that were quickly tucked away in the lovely linda).

i forgot to mention that i washed all the socks i could find.

there are six pairs of feet in this household.

enough said.

i decided that you will wear different brand socks than your sister(s) or brother(s). or i will mark whos are who with a permanent marker. because i still have unsorted socks in a bag. socks that have no match. patterned socks. colored socks. and far too many white socks. socks that are too small. or socks i've had for years. what do you do with old socks? do you give them away? throw them away? i do hope i've figured this out by now. but these are the inconsequential questions of a twenty year old. one day i will be full grown.

i just wrote to tell you that everything about you

(even the socks that you slip on)

is significant.

and aside from the cheesiness between each syllable, please do remember.

sincerely,

a young girl who is becoming cleaner each day for herself

so we can smell them everyday

dear children-who-i-will-jump-in-puddles-with,

when there are no cartoons on television and when there is nothing in particular to do i will wrap you up like a burrito in a blanket. and pretend like i'm going to eat you. my mom and dad used to do this to me. and i'm going to do it with you. i will cup my hand over your ear and my mouth and tell you secrets like i love you. or your eyes are like fireworks. or your smile is like ten million diamonds. i will help you climb trees even though i've never climbed one. i will teach you to ride a bike even though i'm still learning. i can rollerblade though. maybe we will start with that. we will explore every nook and cranny of parks, woods, and our backyard. no rock will be left unturned. we will pick flowers of different colors and we will breathe our deepest breath, pollen and all. we will let out a sigh of contentment and put said flowers in a vase on a table in our living room. so we can smell them everyday.
we will sing songs and dance for everyone to see. i will teach you to be unashamed. because fear won't look good on you like it never looked good on me. i can't wait until our laughter shakes the walls of our house. we will cry. and fight. and disagree. that is a given, considering that they are the norms of any healthy relationship. but our laughter will be the syrup that makes the illnesses of anger, bitterness, and plain ol' ugliness go away.


sincerely,

a twenty year old girl who has no excuse to be silly but insists that one must never take themselves too seriously.

thought i knew

dear children-who-i-can't-even-put-a-face-to,

when you read this, know that i didn't always expect to have children. especially right now at this moment. right now must be spent falling head over heels in love with my Beloved who is fairer than ten thousand. when you read this, know that i didn't always want to make you grilled cheese sandwiches or ice cream sundaes. when you read this, know that i didn't always anticipate your "how come's" and "why not's." when you read this, know that thinking about you so far in advance is painful. because there was a time when i had everything planned out. the library i want for you. the dimples i hope you inherit. the music room i will sing with you in. the nightmares that i can kiss away. the colorful finger paintings i will proudly stick on the fridge. the squeals of excitement as i push you higher and higher on the swings. the picnics we will have on freshly cut grass. and right now i don't have any of that planned out. and it's scary. because for so long i thought i knew. but that thought slipped through my fingers like the ribbon of balloons. and now i am unsure.

but when you read this, know that the most important thing to me at age nineteen is getting a hold of who God says i am - and believing it. and living it.

and when you read this, know that i am so thankful that you are reading this.

sincerely,

your mother who at nineteen is so unsure of the future but is rooting herself in a high, wide, deep, long everlasting love.

and i had no answer.

dear children-who-i-will-play-hide-and-seek-with,

if i am not a teacher when you are reading this i must explain why.

it was the twenty-seventh of august and a blistering afternoon as i walked into room 105 with haste. the class? intro to education. the teacher was poised and carried herself with grace. her eyes glowed - warm and welcoming, interested and engaged. she rattled off the requirements, pacing leisurely. eyes still glowing, but now stern. soft but stern. she asked: "why are you taking this course?" and was bombarded with answers such as: i've wanted to be a teacher since i was four, or my mother was a teacher, and before her, my grandmother, or i have helped out in sunday school, or i intern at the ymca. and i had no answer. no passionate, or even slightly enthusiastic response. of course i said something. but it was nothing of consequence or commitment. and with an approving glance, she moved to the next student. my answer had nothing to do with a profound longing in my soul to affect the lives of children in a classroom setting. because that desire is not in me. not now. maybe not ever. thus i dropped my liberal studies major. and i am now a worship and the arts major. worship leader emphasis. i am most complete when in His presence. and am honored to usher in His presence. and am amazed when people engage with Him. there is no thing like it.

that is the story. my story. and your grandfather is worried because he is unsure of the job opportunities i will find. he is concerned that i do not see the reality of my decision. he anticipates the dire situations i might find myself in if i do not declare a "useful" major. a "practical" major. one that will provide for my future. but i know my God. and He is real. and He is entirely more aware of the reality of my decision than even your grandfather is. than even i am. and that is a relief.

sincerely,
a girl who has made a life altering decision to trust that His plans are far better than mine

operative word

dear children-whose-names-i-have-thought-about-already:

promises are hard to keep. and there are no loopholes. ever. :) but i pinky promise that i will try my best- try being the operative word - to never raise my voice without reason. especially if the reason has to do with my day. and my problems. problems that you could not alter with your greatest thought or action. my anger will not rub off on you and it will not knock you over. it rears its ugly head sometimes. but i am only nineteen and still have lots to learn. let us hope that by then, the well within me is overflowing with His joy and compassion. however, (you had to know this was coming. i do love my adverbs.) this does not mean that i am to refrain from disciplining you if need be. this also does not mean that i am to refrain from speaking sternly. the tone will change with purpose. not out of a fit of rage. but to teach you. oh, i want to teach you! but you will probably teach me. and that's okay.

sincerely,

a girl who despises unnecessary shouting and quarreling and who will avoid it at all costs, especially with those she loves.

how silly this seems

and in commemoration of the thirty-first of july, which marks the near end of summer and the near beginning of the school year, i will write a letter to my future children. regardless how silly this seems. or how little time i have to do so (since i must be ready for the beach at precisely two o' clock)

dear children-who-have-yet-to-be-born:

i will try and give you more than toys or video games. i will read to you every night. including the nine glorious months that you will be swimming in my body. i will expose you to beautiful operas and folk music. and i will teach you about geography and aviation. i hope that you will fall in love with learning. but that said learning will not keep you from doing and living. that thought will not be the iron chains that imprison you. but a desperate and urgent stirring within to climb trees and dive into the deep end of the pool. these things are important. but they are nothing compared to the incomparable God who i pray you will serve wholeheartedly. i know you will. you are bound to. :)

sincerely,

a girl who is only nineteen but still thinks of what your favorite color might be and if you will like comic books

it is time to make a sandwhich and get ready for the sun!