Category Archives: Letters

My love, my life

**I post this one day late because our downstairs neighbors (the ones with the unsecured wireless network) moved out several weeks ago.

Dearest love,

One year ago today [yesterday now], I married you.  I can’t honestly say that I’ve ever made a better decision.  Being your wife has changed me in ways that I can’t always see until I catch a glimpse of who I am juxtaposed with who I used to me and then I just sort of stand there and shake my head because I’m stunned by the difference our being together over this last year has made.

On the outside, we’ve done so much this last year; we got married, you graduated and found a job, I changed jobs twice.  There have been moments where I’ve felt more like we’re caught up in a whirlwind than anything else.  And yet I don’t think it would seem like so much without the changes that have happened inside.

Most of my life, I’ve been afraid of being left alone.  I’ve feared that something big was coming and that I would have deal with it and that I would be all alone, too small, and eventually destroyed.  The funny thing is, I didn’t even know that this was what I feared until it came out in our arguments and the ensuing discussions.  I didn’t know I was afraid of being alone until I wasn’t anymore.  You can’t be all in all to me and I know that.  But you’ve been there enough, consistently enough, that I can see how God might be there all the time.  You’re my own personal illuminated manuscript, and I love you all the more for it.  I’m learning not to be afraid anymore.  Thank you, love.

You’ve also helped me to be less afraid to see myself.  You’re never horrified, never repulsed when I see yet another thing about myself that is ugly.  Sometimes you’re hurt and angry, but I’d be more concerned if you weren’t.  When you’re there with me, I can look straight at things that I couldn’t see before.  I’m so confident in your love that I can overcome my deep, deep fear of being hopelessly imperfect.  In fact, being loved by you is such a privilege and a joy that it’s easier to look at those deep, painful things until I can see them than it is to stuff them under the carpet again.  If I don’t look at them, they’ll continue to come out and hurt you.  I know that there will be times when I cause you pain, but I’ve learned to choose not to multiply those by not knowing my own heart.

And thus, I stop abruptly.  My time has run out, though my heart overfloweth.  Trust me, I could go on and on.  However, I’ve said the words that are important and the rest you already know.  So go.  Be well.  Take care of yourself.

I love you.



Filed under Letters

A breath of fresh air?

Dear Sinuses,

Life feels a lot better than a few days ago. I would say that I feel like I can breathe again except, oh wait, I CAN’T.

As far as I can tell, you’re not sick, being that the rest of me feels fine and you don’t usually get sick by yourselves. Also, none of the things you’re usually allergic to are blossoming/seeding/making whoopie right now. And yet you’ve been in “freak-out” mode for several days. What is going on?

I’m really not sure what you’re trying to achieve here. If you want freedom, let me know and I’ll do my best to let go. You can go to Mongolia, for all I care. If you want rest, well, let’s just say your current strategy is counterproductive. If you’re trying to communicate something else, you’re going to have to find another way to let me know. Because right now? Mostly I want to claw you out of my face and run hot water through you until I can breathe again. I realize that’s rather graphic, and that violence is not the answer, but you are truly trying my patience.

Could we please make peace? I’d offer you a peace pipe, but intuition tells me that might just make things worse. Instead, I’ll offer you another Sudafed if you’ll sit down and have it out with me, mano a mano.

Thank you,


Leave a comment

Filed under Letters

A Short Note to Mr. JJ Abrams Before I Go To Bed

Not all of your work has to include torture. Or explosives inside people’s heads. Or relationships between someone who works for an “agency” who is dealing with someone who does not. Or lusty female agents who accidentally spill wine on The Bad Guy just to distract him.

Besides, you’re becoming predictable.

1 Comment

Filed under Letters

The Post that Cannot be Posted

Dear readers, your lines are in italics.

Something really funny just happened…

So, tell me about it.

…but I can’t tell you about it.

Why not?

Because I have learned, through trial and error, unfortunately, that posting about things like the really funny thing that just happened on my blog causes problems.

But I won’t tell anyone. Pleeeeeeeeeease tell me about it.

I can’t. I really and truly can’t. I would love to. I would dearly love to. And I would do voices, and speak with inflection, and use gestures and do everything that would help you fully appreciate the humor of the whole situation. But it involves people I don’t want to hurt. And…well, beyond that, it’s probably wrong.

But you do lots of wrong things.

Well, yes, but A) we don’t talk about that much, if at all possible, and B) I generally at least attempt not to do said wrong things when I realize, before I do them, that they are, in fact, wrong. As much as I wish that I had not realized this, in this situation, before I blogged it, I DID realize it, and now I must abide by that.

Well, fine then. Be all holy and crap.*

I’m not being holy. Just…holier than I wish I could be. And I’m not quite sure that’s holiness.

Yeah, you’re gonna burn in hell* for this one.

Hell? Whatever. I’m suffering already. Yeah, I’ll have you know that I’m suffering more in all of this than you are. This story burns inside of me. It longs to be told. And yet I shut my mouth and do not let the words out.

**Bites tongue, thus ending the conversation by virtue of the fact that masticating one’s own tongue often renders one incapable of conversing**

*I’m sorry, dear readers, if you are offended about the words I have put in your mouth. Please substitute words you deem more appropriate and know that I did not put in all the words I found most appropriate to this particular situation.

1 Comment

Filed under Letters

Dear World,

Please stop spinning.


Dear Blog Readers,

More when the world stops spinning.


PS Inner-ear infections suck.

Leave a comment

Filed under Letters

Note to my sinuses (and all my nasal passages, really)*

*Note to all of you out there…if you are offended by the words “snot” and…well, “snot”, read no farther. These are the rantings of one who misses the days of frolicking in the sunshine because she is indoors feeling wretched.

Dear Sinuses,

Generally, you do a good job of doing what you were made to do. You allow me to breathe, and to speak, and even to sing, though you really could do a better job at that last one. Most of the time, you even do a good job at keeping yourselves healthy. You produce the right amount of mucus at the right consistency at the right times to keep those nasty little viruses away.

What you are doing right now, however, is not so good. I realise that you need to produce snot to be able to rid yourselves of that dratted outer layer of membrane that has been so wrongly infected with said viruses. However, the amount you are producing is really over the top. THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!! There is no possible way that you were designed to produce more snot than you could possibly hold. Please return to functioning the way you were created immediately.

Thank you,
A Concerned Citizen

Leave a comment

Filed under Letters

An Open Letter

Dear Lauren Winner,

Or whatever your last name is now, since I heard you’ve gotten married. I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you won’t actually ever read this anyway.

You’re my kind of girl and, more importantly, my kind of Episcopal/Anglican, my kind Christian.
I love the way you write. Your voice makes me feel like I know you, or like the little that I do know of you is real. One of my first thoughts about your writing, before I even knew if I liked the ideas, was “Girl can write!” And you write like an intelligent human being, which, as another intelligent human being, I appreciate beyond words.

I love the way you truly share yourself. You say things in your book that, if I were you, I wouldn’t admit to in public for a million years, but I wouldn’t love your book and your writing and yourself if you hadn’t included those things.

I love your imperfections. I love your humanity, and the fact that you don’t come across as an arrogant Columbia graduate student, but as a person who walks and talks and struggles like the rest of us.

I love the way you don’t really give a damn what other Christians think of you. I’m sure we would disagree, drastically, on some matters, but I love the fact that you would disagree with me and not think me a moron, but also not sacrifice your views because I disagreed.

I love the way you think. I would love to talk to you, because I think you would really hear me and not try to make me say things I don’t mean. I love your logic and your intuition and the connection between your head and your heart. When you think, your heart is involved, and that’s a rare gift, in our world today.

I love your love of liturgy, and your defense of sometimes saying words that your heart isn’t in at the moment. I love the idea of liturgy giving you words to fall back on when you don’t have any of your own.

I love your love of Judaism. I, too, have read Chaim Potok, though I generally thought the people who believed what they believed about the rabbinic writings were crazy. When I hear you talk about them, and think of them in terms of the Christian tradition that I love, I understand, and I love the fact that you can make me understand that.

I love the fact that you’re a nerd, and that you love books above almost all else. Books were my first friends, and I often think that some of them will be my most constant companions throughout my life. You can’t always take people with you, but you can take a book, and that’s a blessing I think you would understand.

I’m not crazy, I’m not a stalker or a psycho or anything like that. But I connected with you, the girl who met God, in a way I rarely connect with anyone, let alone through a book. So thank you.

Under the Mercy,

PS I know you’re a nerd and all, but do you happen to watch Alias?

Leave a comment

Filed under Letters