The lost art of letter writing

October 2022

This month we asked our writers to reflect upon the The lost art of letter writing

Thank you, Mom.

Sarah Miller
MSMU Class of 2026

Dear Mom,

First off, I want to preface this letter with how much you mean to me. Although the yearning for teenage independence floods my thoughts sometimes, so does making you smile. I have pure, fond memories of cuddling on the couch together while watching the Berenstain Bears. When we were all snuggled up in our pajamas at 7:30 pm on the dot every night, and it was our last episode together because ‘I have to go to bed soon. It’s a school night.’ I wish that we could watch the Berenstain Bears every night together. Maybe we could change our nightly show, the Berenstain Bears, because Law and Order is getting old, and I miss Momma Bear.

I always miss you, even if you think I don’t. It was difficult starting here, not because of the usual college adjustments, but because of seeing Route 15 every day. It cuts through the campus so perfectly that anytime I walk to class, I see the highway, and that highway always leads me home; but I promised myself that I wouldn’t go a lot yet. I need to stick it out. Although I feel adjusted now, I would do anything to sleep in my own bed and get some nice shower pressure.

I am blessed with the best mom ever, which is so cheesy and overused—but I know I have the best one. You filled the mother and father role for me at pivotal points in my life, and I hope that I can raise my children exactly how you raised me—the New Jersey mom way. I hope I have your qualities, especially your resilience and caring heart. You gave us so much growing up, and tangible things aren’t even the most important gift; it is having you as a constant person.

I did not realize how much of a homebody I was until I thought I wanted to go to college in Florida. I remember that time so clearly: we were sitting in a rental car in the parking lot of a pizza shop, and I cried in your arms because I knew how much I would miss you in the few months I had to leave. Although we lost five hundred dollars in college deposits, this is when I knew you accepted me and learned that although hard a decision, I would make the right one. Decisions can be remade, but times with my mom can’t, and I am happy that I decided not to be a stranger. I have enjoyed coming home for the weekend I did, and seeing you. Decompressing felt nice. It is a feeling that I know I will forever cherish, because seeing you always makes me feel at home—because you are my home.

When I was deconstructing my room the month before I left, I came across some memorabilia. First off, I found Lammy and Sharky, the iconic duo. When I was younger, I asked you, "Mom, is it okay if I sleep with stuffed animals for the rest of my life?" You responded, "Of course, baby, your older sister still does," which made me laugh. Honestly, I cannot see myself not sleeping with stuffed animals. I probably will be married and sleeping with them still. It is just so comfortable and warm. It makes growing up easier because I know I will still have that piece of childhood with me, although I fluctuate my stuffed animals along the way. Currently, I am sleeping at college with a pink weighted dinosaur, a bumblebee squishmallow, and, of course, the New York Giants pillow pet. I will never let him go, though, because the Giants need all of the help that they can get. I am praying for a winning season this year. Secondly, I found a copy of The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein in my room. This is our favorite book ever. I will have this book displayed in my classroom for all of my kids to read every year, because of its effect on me when you read it to me. It helped me grow up and realize that the world doesn’t revolve around me. In reality, when you are eight, something you have in common with every eight-year-old around you is that they are all selfish—but isn’t that one of the joys of being a child? Only thinking about yourself for a few years, until reality and priorities sink in. Honestly, Mom, maybe I will even make it a part of my curriculum because, for high schoolers, it could be a good lesson too. I will absolutely think about that.

You are my giving tree. You always provide for me, even when it is particularly hard to give. Especially when you worked your old job after dad died. I know that we were in a harder space financially, but you got us through it. You always do. You were my rock and still are. That time was hard on all of us, but you helped me grow in that time and provided me with everything I needed and wanted; and for that, I am forever thankful. I know that dad is thankful for you, too, because of how great you are raising your two daughters. Thank you, mom.

As I wrote this letter to you, Sara Smile by Hall and Oates started playing. You always say that you hear this song whenever you think of me, and now when I hear it, I always think about you, too.

I love you so much, Mom, and I hope York is treating you well. You really need to take time for yourself and stop working so hard. I worry about you sometimes. Maybe go to the beach for the weekend or come walk through the Grotto with me. You always tell me how beautiful it will be in the fall here. When the weather starts getting crisp, I expect to see you.

I love you, Mom, to the moon and back,

Boo

Read other articles by Sarah Miller

To my beloved

Joseph Carlson
MSMU Class of 2025

Dear Rosy, October begins to tread out her colors, and I cannot help to think of your own color, darling. Though I spend all my days with you, how often have I spoken to you free of tenebrous cares? How often have I made known to you my affection, which I once often made known to you in such words as these? It is true that daily life is its own affection when it is lived for another; yet I would be remiss if, besides my choices, my intellect did not make known to you what I think of you.

I once would have cared little for October and her comforts. In fact, a life such as mine might as well have been a simulation, an unhappy unreality; as such does it now exist in my memory. Dark had been my dreams of late, and to wonder beyond ambition, beyond urgency and strain, was so far from my experience that I could not have imagined it if I had known to try. Your entering in did not set all things right, that is certain. You know well that I had begun to wander into the peaks and valleys of virtue, of holy desire, and of self reflection, before your appearance on stage. Otherwise, our languages would have been so far apart as to not have been related. It seemed to me at the time of our encounter, that I was walking through a forest, a beautiful yet strange, fearful and awe-filled place. I had not another beside me in my odyssey, though I never ceased to surround myself with people. I trekked alone, and after some time spent looking ahead, I saw you, barely distinguishable from the beauty surrounding us, yet obvious upon first notice. As I began to ponder who you were, your beauty grew and grew, till I had no other recourse but to speak to you with words from my heart. I made a friend that day, a friend whose color abounds more deeply than any Autumn, more dearly than the happiest music, more renewed than the most perfect sunrise.

You might wonder if, considering how I felt that day, whether or not I feel the same now. In all honesty, it was a question I wondered about then too. My wondering, however, was rooted in the surest expectation; I simply did not have the capacity to imagine the future, or what you would mean to me in it. I would have predicted reality, that every moment with you would be a culmination of many wonderful moments with my best friend. I would not have known the feeling, for I was not able to know it, but in every additional experience I shared with you, I received one more little gift. My life has been built before my own eyes, and even now I see but a thread in a splendid tapestry of our Lord’s making. You and I are like two threads bound together in order to make a hue like something only God could imagine. I certainly cannot, for I cannot even see myself correctly. I am happy to see God and to see you, and to let the two of you see me. To answer your wonderings, I would say that, though that initial moment of romance and most pleasant surprise still persists in my heart, something far greater has dawned in my love for you.

To say one thing, I am proud that I have been steadfast for you. Every choice was surest assurance that I ought to do it again. However, I have not always been steadfast in my love for you, for every day I am reminded of my own selfishness. Yet even here, your color shines, a color of mercy, and love which calls me on to greater love. Ironically enough, you are the happier one between us. Though the whole world sees in you melancholy and in I sanguinity, you, practically alone in the whole world, are capable of simple joy. My happy moments are often marked by that which I love: God at times, though far more seldom than they ought to be; you and your hues; music, the sky; our family and friends. Yet, in the painting that is my heart, these beautiful things often must make way for silly splotches of ugly, random selfishness. You are happier than I because you care more about others than about yourself. Though sometimes you need a reminder of your own worth, it is far more often that I need a reminder of the worth of others. This, it seems, is the growing mark of my love for you: I have begun to, and have grown, in my care for others. I know that, though you are happy with me as I am, you would be happier if I chose more compassionately, and less selfishly. I would be happier too.

It seems, after years of your happy company, I have appropriated so many of your blessed characteristics. I desire to be like you, darling. Yet, even here, though I have made so much progress, I must let myself notice the most obvious thing: your kindness points not at yourself, but at Christ. If I desire to be happy, if I desire to care for others, it is not enough to simply look at you, an icon of our Blessed Lord. Rather, I must look at Him, wholeheartedly.

I wish the whole world would realize these truths. All the loveliest things that we have encountered in the loveliest people can only come from the Origin of all Goodness. When I praise your virtue, I praise our Creator, but I must praise Him and Him alone as well. I am most thankful that you do not point at yourself, but rather at God. Otherwise, my whole life spent loving you, and every moment of beauty and joy would have been for naught.

Love, Your Joe

Read other articles by Joseph Carlson

My heart is telling me to write this letter

Claire Doll
MSMU Class of 2024

Dear Iced Americano Drinker,

I don’t blame you for being here at Starbucks, too. It’s Friday. A beautiful Friday, the kind where there’s something in the air that just makes you breathe slowly and sink into yourself a little. The sky is entirely and wholeheartedly blue, and the sun is shining. It’s September. The leaves are turning, just a bit, but summer still remains, if only for moments more. Life is good, isn’t it?

I didn’t go to my theology class today. It was cancelled, I promise (I’m not a skipping kind of student). So naturally, I woke up early and watched the sunrise with my best friend. We walked two miles, then made eggs for breakfast, and I had a slow morning full of laundry and essay writing and revising papers. But then I realized just how beautiful of a day it was, and how I couldn’t spend the rest of my life wasting away, doing homework. That I needed to really live, you know? Hop into my car and make spontaneous decisions. Follow my heart, wherever it takes me.

Well, my heart didn’t take me far. The Gettysburg Starbucks is my favorite, of all the ones I’ve been to. And as I stood in line, waiting for my pumpkin cream cold brew, I began having existential thoughts. The annoying thoughts that bug you until you give in, and then you just can’t do anything else for the day. Do you get the same thoughts? You must. You’re a human, just like me, and you’re also sitting alone, on your laptop, in a coffee shop on a Friday afternoon. On one of those days where it’s beautiful and bright and the weekend stretches ahead like a long road where you can’t really see the end. Did your heart tell you to come here, too?

That’s the funny thing, though. How do we know what our hearts truly tell us? How do we know that we’re not letting our lives waste away, with every decision we make? Part of me wishes that when I got into my car this morning, that I would’ve just kept driving. That Route 15 would never have ended, and maybe I’d end up in some random part of Pennsylvania, meet someone new, and experience something crazy. I think a small part of me always wishes this, whenever I go out. That life would do that amazing thing of just flipping upside-down for only a moment, enough to make me feel like I’m not wasting away.

Do you see what I mean by existential thoughts?

I know I’m not wasting away—but also, aren’t we all? In a physical, we’re-all-meant-to-die kind of way? It’s a paradox. Like autumn. Although the fall leaves are artwork, painted like a thousand golden sunsets, what all this beauty really means is death. I could’ve driven all the way to Maine this morning, and still, this truth would be just as relevant.

I don’t think I’m being as morbid as it might seem. I guess what I’m saying is that life has a funny way of making beautiful days, and we can do whatever we want with them. Whatever our hearts say.

You’re drinking an iced Americano, large. Maybe you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, because Americanos are strong (seriously, that much espresso at 2pm?). But who am I to judge? I’m the kind of person who orders an iced latte decaf, just for the aesthetic. I’m also the kind of person who gets hungry so quickly that I simply need a bagel just to push me through the afternoon. I mean, we’re all humans. We all have our own little reasons for everything, and I just think it’s wonderful.

Here comes a spontaneous thought: do you have any dreams? Everyone wants to travel the world, make something of themselves, or see something they’ve never seen before. Are you like everyone else? That’s not a bad thing, I promise. I’m the same way. I’m only asking, because I want to know if we have more in common than just being here at the same place, at the same time. I want to know what you would do if you won the lottery, or more simply, what you want to do in life. You seem to be my age, a college student. Maybe you go to school around here. I don’t, but I like pretending that I do sometimes. Anyways, maybe you’re one of those students who has a fascinating major, like biochemistry or theatre. I don’t know what I find so captivating about people and their goals for the future, but I’m so interested in how we all view life, collectively.

If you had the chance to go anywhere in the world, would you take it?

What if your heart begged you to take the chance?

Would you listen to it?

I don’t know why I’m writing to you. I could’ve written a letter to my younger self, or my parents, or my best friend. I could’ve written to someone I know dearly, pour all my thoughts and feelings onto a page (and then to the entire town of Emmitsburg). But I chose you—because you’re sitting on your laptop just like me, you’re drinking an iced Americano, and it’s a Friday afternoon. The sky is bright and it’s gorgeous outside, and you could be doing a million other things, just like me. But our hearts have this funny way of leading us to experiences we can’t seem to forget. And maybe we’re not wasting away. We’re just following life, in whichever direction we like.

When I get back to my campus, I’m going to finish my English essay, and maybe bake some muffins with my roommate. We’ll end the night watching reality TV, and tomorrow, we’ll go somewhere new. Somewhere our hearts will lead us.

ABBA is playing on the Starbucks radio, and I wonder if you also feel inspired. After all, it’s Friday. A beautiful Friday, at that. We’re as human as humanely possible. Life is really, truly good, isn’t it?

Sincerely,

A Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew Enthusiast

Read other articles by Claire Doll

A letter to my littlest siblings

McKenna Snow
MSMU Class of 2023

Dear 3 littlest siblings of mine, how are you? How is home? I told you I would write you a one-thousand-word letter! Here it is for you to read together. My school is going well. I am taking 5 classes this semester, and am working on an Honors project that is practically a class all on its own. How many classes does that make? (It’s 5 +1, if the six-year-old wants to try to figure that out).

How is the weather at home? It is raining here as I write this. I am currently listening to Mozart on the violin and piano. What books have you been reading? I have had to read a lot of the Bible for one of my classes, so that makes me very happy.

I will fill you in on what I have been up to over the weekend, as today is Monday. This weekend, I got to see our older brother! He came to the Mount and we got to go out to dinner. We went to a sushi restaurant and I got chicken, noodles, and green tea. On Saturday, I went out all day with Women’s Fellowship. We went to a beach in the mountains—it was connected to a lake, not an ocean—and we played cards there. Some girls also played volleyball. We had sandwiches for lunch, and then we hiked to these beautiful waterfalls. You had to climb up a lot of massive rocks to get to the waterfalls area, but it was worth it. It was great to get to spend time with other girls my age, and have a very relaxing Sunday the next day. I sadly came down with a cold the next day, but that ensured that I took the day very slowly, and that I took a nap…

It is okay to take a few days to write a letter. Now as I write this part, it is Tuesday. Let me tell you how beautiful the weather is today! It is not raining like it was yesterday—quite the opposite. I sat outside all morning in the shade to read for class. I brought a medium hot coffee, my book, and a highlighter with me, and that was all I needed. Outside felt so nice: the air was cool, the breeze was soft, and the sky was a perfect blue. Some rainwater was left over on the benches around me, though, but that wasn’t a bad thing. As I was reading, I witnessed a squirrel jump onto a bench and drink from the rain water. In little ways like this, it is evident that God is very good at always providing for all His creatures.

After class, I got lunch with my friend, Lyla. Guess what! She brought me a little gift. She bought me Dunkin’ Donuts Pumpkin Spice Goldfish Grahams. They are delicious, and they make me excited for fall. It was a very sweet gift to receive from her. What gifts have you given to each other recently? It is a good habit to be in, to give gifts every now and then, even if there is no particular reason for it. Tuesdays can be a special occasion, too.

As I write this part of the letter, I am sitting in the library. I have a lot of homework to do today, so I will likely have to pause writing again and pick it back up tomorrow. That is one of the nice things about informal, thoughtful letters: no one has a due date for you, no expiration date, no "too late" sort of timeline. You can write a letter whenever, at whatever pace works for you, in whatever length you want (1,000 words is a little longer than most people would normally write)…

And here we are. It is Wednesday, and this will be the last time I write for this letter, because I think it’s almost long enough and I’m sure I’ve asked enough questions for you that you don’t want anything else to have to respond to.

But writing letters isn’t a chore—it is a gift. We are blessed to have postal systems that allow for sending letters to one another, even if we’re hundreds or even thousands of miles apart. And there is something very special about letters, wouldn’t you say? They are better than text messages. With letters, you get something real, physical, something the other person had to hold with their own hands in order to send it to you. We can’t hold text messages. And, you can’t see a person’s handwriting in text messages. In letter-writing, you get to see that person’s unique handwriting style, almost like a piece of their personality expressed in written word. What kind of handwriting do you have? How does it differ from your sister’s, or your brother’s?

A person’s handwriting gives away what sort of care the letter was written with, too. Does your handwriting look better when you write quickly, or when you write slowly? How much thought are you putting into each word you write? Hand-writing things requires a lot of intentionality and deliberation, because we get tired when we’ve written for a while. Thus, the words we pick are important, because we only have so much space to write in. What you say matters, even if it is just a letter telling the other person about your day.

Letter-writing doesn’t seem as popular these days, have you ever thought about that? People like to send text messages. Those are fine, but they are indicative of a culture of busyness, and even laziness. Letter-writing takes care and preparation. You have to pick out the paper, or card, and the envelope, and the stamp it will have. But, as a result, what a great gift letters make! So much thought and love goes into even just one postcard.

Letters are a special thing, and that’s why I look forward to receiving a letter from you in response to this one. I love your little drawings, the stickers you put on the page, and getting to read in your handwriting. I love hearing about your day, too. Alright, I will be home soon to give you all lots of hugs! I miss you!

Love, Kenna.

Read other articles by McKenna Snow

Read Past Editions of Four Years at the Mount