Reasons to Write Letters

As many of my friends know, I enjoy writing letters. Though email, texting, and a host of other media are instantaneous and easy ways to contact friends and family, I've put together a list of reasons why good old-fashioned letter-writing is my preferred method of communication. 

Some of the letters I've received over the past year

The wait is exciting. There might be weeks or months between letters. Yet I still check the mailbox every day in anticipation of a reply, because I know it's coming. Corresponding by mail can be an exercise in patience, but what a glorious day when that little envelope arrives!

Corn, Cattle, and Catholicism

I went to Kansas.

I thought about it for a while beforehand.

I told myself I didn't need to go, that there was nothing to do in Kansas, and that I had seen it already (while passing through on a road trip to Yellowstone). But the pull of Kansas was just too strong, so last week, I packed my bags and flew into Wichita, where I surprised some friends. 

And let me tell you, Kansas is fabulous. (With that sentence, I have given my sisters license to make fun of me for the next sixteen years, approximately.) I'll start by saying that yes, there are a lot of cornfields. And cattle. 

My Patron, St. Lawrence

Today, I'm celebrating my birthday. It's also the feast day of a saint and martyr, Saint Lawrence!

St. Lawrence, or Lawrence of Rome, was a deacon in the third century. He was charged with the care of material goods in the Church and distribution of alms to the poor. When the Roman persecution of Catholics began, Lawrence knew he would be arrested and likely put to death. He, therefore, quickly distributed the Church's goods among the poor. Tradition dictates that St. Lawrence put aside only the Holy Grail, the chalice Christ used at the Last Supper. Then, seized while assisting with the Mass, St. Lawrence was brought before Roman officials:

A Series of Thank-Yous: To the Men

To the men who showed me what it means to be a woman of God by their example, calling me on to do His work, thank you. 

To the men who saw their sister in Christ struggling to realize her identity as a daughter of God, thank you for listening and loving me through those difficult times. 

To the men who walked me back to the door of my dorm at night, come hell or high water, I cannot thank you enough. (And if you trudged through the snow to do so, you probably knocked a few years off Purgatory. I'm sanctifying you.) 
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