Dear Autumn, is it just me or are you particularly lovely this year? You sure took your time getting here, but then the cold came, and with it, a profusion of colors which leaves me almost in pain at the beauty of it. I’m afraid I spend much more time looking out my office window at the brilliantly red and yellow trees than I should, but I just can’t help myself! Love, Enchanted

Dear Dancing, thank you for being the joy of my last year. I’ve wanted to dance for many years, but knowing that I was the whitest of white girls without much rhythm in my soul, I didn’t expect to be much good at it. Turns out, I actually can! Creating beauty through movement is one of the most satisfying things, and one side effect I did not at all expect is a much better understanding of gender roles and submission. Leave it to God to be creative about teaching me things. Love, Your Biggest Fan

Dear C.S. Lewis, once again you’ve nailed it. I read several of your writings this year, but my favorite was “Surprised by Joy”, which put words to a feeling I have had such trouble expressing. You might be offended to be classed with L.M. Montgomery (hopefully not, because you’re both pretty awesome!), but between your concept of joy, and her concept called “The Flash”, I now have an explanation, or at least a mutual understanding with other people, of this tricky concept that is at the same time painful and exhilarating. Love, Well-Read

Dear Feather Pillows, I have mixed feelings about you. See, when I lie propped up on several pillows filled with clouds, I feel exactly like a movie star, and burrowing into your depths has definitely heightened the luxuriousness of my nighttime routine. But on the other hand, your recent addition to my life has NOT made it easier to get out of bed. But I love you anyway, till death (or morning) do us part. Love, Well-Rested

Dear New Experiences, somehow without even trying, I managed quite a lot of you this year. I saw Paris and Banff and Savannah and read a ton of new books and ate all kinds of new food and broke out of my safe little box time and again. Sometimes I think of the people who live in one tiny area and eat the same thing and think the same thoughts all their lives, and my mind boggles, it really does. You have made me who I am, a richer and (slightly) wiser person, and I’m grateful. Love, Well-Traveled

Dear Rare Saturday At Home, you are basically one of my favorite things in the whole world (except dancing maybe), and you do not come around often enough. Love, Homebody With An Itchy Foot

Dear Jean Fritz, I picked up your book, “Homesick, My Own Story”, not knowing what it was about. I wasn’t very far into it when I found myself feeling strangely akin to you. The pull of belonging to two places, of being shaped by two different worlds and never exactly fitting into either, of always longing for the next thing, you get it. Even though our lives are vastly different- you were born in China and I was born in Kentucky, you grew up eating with chopsticks and I with tortillas, you lived in danger and I didn’t- still, I feel a connection to you. The feeling of never fitting in is almost worth it when you find an instant connection with another missionary kid. Also, your book is delightful and I wish I could write as well as you. Love, TCK

Dear Unnecessary Things, I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, and about how much more wonderful my life is made by things I don’t technically need. Perfume, houseplants, baleadas, striped shoes, swishy skirts, glittery eyeshadow, old books that are hardly even readable but oh-so-pretty, classical music, ice cream sandwiches, coffee of course… I sure am lucky to be able to surround myself with beautiful and tasty unnecessary things every day of my life. Love, Aesthetically-Minded

Dear Thanksgiving Day, you are the bomb diggity. I think you must be like the Friday evening of the year; we breathe a sigh of delight and put on our comfiest sweatpants when you come around. The thing you have over Christmas is that you are just the start of the festivities, and we know we still have the whole weekend, er, holiday season to look forward to, rather than nearing the bleak end. Also, THE FOOD. Love, Well-Fed

A Year Ago:

Little Letters

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