There are a couple of ways I’ve learned to celebrate the miracle of Christmas — practices that exchange sensational consumerism for quiet anticipation, and occasionally, joyous celebration. I want to give gifts that mean something to the person receiving them. I want to bake cookies and share them, decorate my house in a simple yet joyful, meaningful way. I want to soak in these moments, and share them with my family. I want to be a better neighbor. And I don’t want to feel guilty when I don’t get it all done in time. Magic carries with it a connotation of quickness, doesn’t it? Just snap your fingers. Santa maneuvers athletically in and out of houses — somehow, he gets it done.

Just as people disagree on what physical things are important to them, what it means to live a meaningful life is different for all of us as well. To find value, we must look closely at our choices. Do we really think about the things we surround ourselves with every day? The small, quiet things, the things screaming for our attention, the things we shower upon others? Sometimes we don’t think about our values at all. We simply follow the status quo. Traditions have endured because many people find value in them (they are great at fostering a sense of place amidst the never-ending passage of time), but even traditions evolve as the people who practice them grow physically, mentally, and emotionally. After all, at some time someone somewhere started something new that is now considered a tradition.

I don’t know who’s missing from the family picture that no one wants to actually take.

But I think I just wanted to be a voice in the conversation. I wanted you to know that I’m with you. That someone out there is also going to be crying in front of the Christmas tree out of sadness, exhaustion, loneliness, and grief.

Friend, I don’t know if 2021 was a year of beautiful and hopeful things for you, or if it included pain, heartache, and grief. I do know that our pondering of the year behind us does not have to end with the overwhelmingly messy, hard, and (sometimes paradoxically) beautiful things of this world. Instead, we are invited to still ourselves—to slow down and breathe.

Making homemade stationery is certainly a journey, but it’s a journey worth taking. Not only is being creative fun, self-expression is important for the soul and reusing materials you have on hand is good for your wallet and the environment (if you’re into that).

Just remember, don’t be afraid to experiment and don’t get down on yourself if you’re dissatisfied with some of the stationery you make. You can always try again. Have fun, be kind to yourself, and celebrate the creative process!

If you were to step into my childhood bedroom, you’d find countless half-written plays about long-lost sisters and numerous diary entries detailing my family vacations. Writing always came naturally to me. It is how I deconstructed new concepts and ideas.

For me, it is easier to think in terms of small indulgences, where the stakes are low, but when I’m honest with myself, indulging daily is much grander than office supplies and pizza nights. It’s about being present and grateful and joyful in the moments when you can be, because sometimes you can’t. It’s about living in abundance, even if that abundance is something as simple as having a slice of hot blackberry pie for dinner.

Finding people is half the battle. Once we’ve found them, how do we move from the touch and go of superficial conversations and a few scrolls on our six inch screens? Trial, error, and a few acts of courage have taught me a few things.

Sadly, your friend or loved one has just been diagnosed with cancer. You want to write to them, but you don’t have a clue what to say. That is completely normal. Perhaps you’re tempted to wait until you find the perfect card or the perfect words – and so you write nothing. Hopefully, you already believe that writing to someone is an excellent thing to do (I don’t imagine you would be reading the More Love Letters blog if you didn’t), so here are some hints and tips which will, hopefully, encourage you to put pen to paper.

Today, I see my white cane as a badge of honor.

I see my white cane as a reminder of how far I’ve come. Every time I use it, I see a girl who felt despair the day she was diagnosed with RP to someone who is learning to love herself enough by embracing all parts of who she is. Today, there is nothing self-conscious about the cane. It’s simply a little help for my vision.

I love my hobby and there is no doubt that it has brought immense value to my life. But sometimes I wonder if I’ve taken it too far. We may get so into our hobbies that they turn into projects to tackle instead of simply enjoy.

We are yearning to come in from the rain. We are searching for safe spaces where we can rest and recover. We want to be welcomed – not in the polite way of strangers, but in the warm, reassuring way of family.

I don’t have all the answers. What I do know is that despite what society says, there is no requirement to abandon yourself to make others more comfortable. You don’t owe anyone a version of you that isn’t true to your soul.

As women in our thirties, we recognize that not everyone sticks around, nor would we want them to. We have learned the difference between the marigolds and the weeds.

We've internalized the message that doing something for our own enjoyment is not enough, not without the external validation of money, of praise. What if we created a society that didn't necessitate sacrificing free time to keep the roofs over our heads?

It’s so easy to hold back in our prayers. It’s tempting to ask for the mundane or expected, to ask for the things that seem guaranteed. But we are not told to pray timidly or half-heartedly. Hebrews tells us to approach the throne of grace with confidence, with boldness.

Eating outside offers up sounds, smells, and sensations we just can’t get in a sealed room. Sunshine, wind, dirt underfoot, bugs flying, flowers blooming, glittering snow… Getting outside our comfort zone bombards our senses and we notice things we otherwise wouldn’t.

I begin to pay attention consciously, to really notice what’s around me—not only in terms of what I can see, but also what I can hear, feel, or taste. And I find that beneath my initial assumption that ordinary equates to monotony, or even lack—this is all there is—there lies instead a teeming of tiny moments of beauty and joy.

As of yesterday, 169 letters have come in, from around 24 states and 3 countries (New Zealand, Canada, Australia)!