A Letter

When I was eight or nine years old and my life was largely dictated by the lives of the fictional characters I voraciously read about, I got a decent idea from an LM Montgomery protagonist, one who resembled Anne of Green Gables. Her name was Emily (of New Moon), and she decided to write letters to herself in the future. I promptly wrote a letter to my fifteen year old self (which was about as mature as I could imagine ever becoming at that age), in which I passionately proclaimed my love for Jesus and my love for a boy in my fifth grade class named Michael (in that order.) I asked myself scores of questions, including such important ones as "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Are you pretty?" "Do you have your driver's permit?" I ended with a sincere plea to myself to always perservere in my childlike faith.

I couldn't wait to open the letter. Instead of waiting until I was fifteen, I found myself rebreaking the seal every six months or so, each time more and more amazed at how young and innocent I was. This, of course, made it lose the impact it could have had when I actually did turn fifteen, but, nevertheless, the exercise was a worthwhile one in a study of transitioning from childhood to adolescenthood.

All of this has got me thinking. I need to write a letter to my grown up kids right now. Here's what I've got so far:
________________________________

Dear grown-up version of Lucy and Zander:

Hi, kiddoes. It's August 2011, and I am the version of mom that you see in the photo albums when you were a three year old and infant, the pics that make you cry out "Whoa! Mom- you used to look SO young!"

You two are seriously exhausting and seriously delightful. Luce- you are all storms and rainbows. You can be the kindest, most generous three year old I've ever seen, as you share your treats with you dad and love on your baby bro. You can also be hilariously tantrum-y at the drop of the hat, if I say a phrase you didn't want me to say "I didn't WANT you to ask if I ate all of my lunch!" or if I don't spread the blanket on your doll correctly.

Zander- you are completely out of it still, and so young that it doesn't bother you a bit. But your smile lights up the room, our hearts. Who in the world are you? The pediatrician said you are amazingly expressive for your age. Did you talk early? . . .
__________________________

As you can see, the letter is a work in progress. But the fact that words can act as a time capsule is something to make use of a time or two.

Especially when you want to capture a snapshot of a moment you realize you never want to forget.