Love letters

Recently I have been buried beneath heartbreak. I bemoan the love letters that never perch in my mailbox with sweet melodies to secret songs only for my ears. I have cried and talked and prayed and raged, "This is not how I thought my story would go," I say.

My feelings have had the upper hand, arm-wrestling the truth down countless times until my insides turn bruised. "Why is God holding out on me?" I cry, angry, confused. "He's not," a tiny whisper says that get's lost in the background of my screaming experiences.

Until today. Because today I found a letter.

I came home to a letter on my desk from a friend reminding me of the sisterhood that we share and how we stand with each other and love each other as hard as we can.

Then I thought of the brown cardboard box on my shelf—filled with letters. Words from deceased grandparents and words from friends who live hours away. Words from 12 years ago and words from 12 days ago. I realize, these words form a chorus. Why would I want a single voice humming, when I have been given the Chicago Mass Choir? I am surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, witnesses to my stumblings and triumphs. Witnesses cheering me down the path of life.

I hear God whisper "You're right. This isn't how you thought your story would go."

And then I see—I am invited, really we all are. We have a place in the chorus. We are love letter writers.

We can find words, buried in the dirt and speak forth little sprouts of hope. We can write in script or scribbled print. We can leave a post-it or send sentences sealed and stamped. Sometimes our love letters can come in the form of gooey chocolate chip cookies or a butterfly necklace that made me think of you or maybe a long hug or a giant load of clean laundry. However it looks, we are invited to spell out a love letter that arrives on an ordinary day and lets the sunlight shine in the nick of time.