Dear Boy,

Yesterday, you acted more compassionately toward my mom than usual and I want you to know I appreciated it. Thank you also for your concerned prayer for her last night. It probably meant more for me than it does to her (since I alone, with God, heard it). I know my mom has very apparent foibles and weaknesses, but I love her and I see so much goodness and beauty in her also. I've learned a lot from her. I love plants and music because of her. I hear God because she taught me to listen. I seek truth because of her. Most practical skills I have came because she taught them to me.

It hurts me to watch her aching and struggling along. The best I can do is be there when I can, to listen when I can, and to offer support when I can. The worst I can do is to give in to the temptation to pass judgement and place blame. Your compassionate attitude helps me to cultivate my own ability to love, so thanks again for that.

L

Dear Lady,

Dear Lady,

Here I sit, reverent inside this van that has given up on life (there are so many instances in life that would have me wish I were born a mechanic, and yet in my heart I know that's not for me).
The owners of the establishment where it stalled out have been quite kind: I've been offered water, a seat in their air conditioned office, and a slice of ice cream cake. I've declined each offer, expressing gratitude in turn. Each item offered has been quite attractive in its own right, but I am simply enjoying this moment to sit in solitude outside.
So much of my life is wrapped up in buildings and offices—even in this position I currently hold where I can be "out and about" I am still only out and about to go from one building or office to the next. It is better than being stuck in one solitary office all day, but no match for a life spent out of doors listening to the songs of summer (and no, I'm not talking about Taylor Swift on the radio). There is a beauty in the sounds of the outdoors—even when carried about by the creations of man.
I hear birds conversing in the mess of trees around me.
The wind is whispering through the leaves (a much softer sound than the crash and crunch of the wind in autumn trees).
Cars, along the highway beside me, pass in rhythm with the occasional thundering bass of a semi rolling by.

Oh! Here's the tow truck—I'll see you in a bit.

.a boy

Dear Lady,

Dear Lady,

You were so very right to have missed the Tree of Life Saturday!
I do not know that I had ever thought about that tree so much as I did in its absence Saturday. I mean, I love the pageant and have always appreciated the technical accomplishment that it is, but I do not know that I have ever remarked the beauty of the entire production as I did this year in the absence of that tree. The very moment that I realized it would not show up I felt a kind of loss in my heart. All at once I recognized that the Tree of Life was the most beautiful part of the entire play and I missed it.
Maybe I'm being a little over dramatic about the entire thing, but as I think about it there's a small sadness I can still feel in trying to recall the image of the tree (a paltry replacement for actually seeing it). The battle scenes are appreciably well choreographed. The boat scene and the ensuing storm are fantastically well brought to life. The destruction sequence is amazing. And, of course, the arrival of the Messiah is always the most reverently impactful moment of the play. I can't help but feel, however, that the Tree of Life is the anchoring scene of beauty in the entire pageant—and it was noticeably absent this time.
You know I found myself, through the rest of the pageant, thinking about how I missed seeing that tree. It carries such power as it is raised from the stage floor and illuminated: the great cascade of water behind it truly creating a sense of visionary experience. It was nice to see the angel provide that glowing fruit to Lehi, but not nearly as inspiring as when he plucks it from an entire tree of beautifully glowing fruit.
Ah well, I suppose one could easily go on forever about what is missed and that would only serve to cause us to lose out on appreciating what is still there. I guess I didn't mean to give the impression that my pageant experience was ruined—far from it. I loved playing frisbee with Nolan before it began. I loved being there with friends. I loved the incessant terror and questions of our little girl. I loved watching the production next to my best friend. And I just loved the overall feeling of dedication, service, and love that always accompanies pageant.
Thank you for going with me each year.
Thank you for enduring mosquitos some years and rain others.
Thank you for being so cute as you fell asleep on the drive home.
Thank you for bringing me out to New York in the first place.
And thank you for missing the Tree of Life with me. I did miss it, but at least I know it will be there next year.
Have a fantastic day Love!

.a boy

Dear Lady,

Dear Lady,

I cannot imagine that life is full of moments more beautiful than this one right now.
I woke up to a golden sunrise spilling in through our window; the light catching on your autumn bouquet sitting in the window sill and glowing. The Christmas lights hanging in the window were also sparkling in the sun and dancing a bit in the breeze from the open window. I can hear the symphony song of all the birds in the countryside through that window, and the occasional lamentation of the mourning dove.

I love living in the country!

This was not the entire beauty of my 6AM moment though—as lovely as that open window was. No, there was beauty still to be added to the scene and as I rolled over in bed I was overwhelmed by it all. For there beside me, still softly sleeping, was you: my every beautiful moment.
Your back was to me, as it so often is in the morning, but your beauty had nothing to do with an external aesthetic and everything to do with an internal import built over the last eleven years. You have always been such a deep and abiding sanctuary for my soul. Your presence alone has always becalmed my mind and heart and I love laying next to you listening to your peaceful, rhythmic breathing. I love spending time laying beside you as you sleep and knowing that, no matter what the previous day imposed, and no matter what the new day may bring, for these careful moments you are completely at peace.
So that was my beautiful moment this morning and I wanted to share it with you because you were such a part of it. You are such a part of every moment of my life, present or not. I cannot imagine a life or a beautiful sunrise without you.
Good morning love. You are my beautiful sunrise.

.a Boy

Dear Lady,

Dear Lady,

Thank you for your letters.
Thank you for caring so much about me.
Thank you for shouldering so much during those couple of weeks when I was no more than a sack of potatoes.
*Speaking of sacks of potatoes . . . have you seen the sack of potatoes in our pantry?*

Writing used to come so easily to me. It used to be what I did. It was my go to. Almost my whole life. Now each word seems so labored over. Like some muscle I've not used in so long, it feels almost wearisome to write. What a strange thing.
I've been writing longer than I can ever remember doing anything. In fifth grade we had creative writing assignments and I was turning in 30-50 page books. Graphic books. My teacher stopped reading my stories they were so graphic. He just started giving me full credit because I wrote so much, but he told me he didn't want to read such graphic stories. I only remember two: one was a 1920s gangster epic, the other was an Aliens movie ripoff.
When I was in sixth or seventh grade I was introduced to Dead Poets Society and poetry. That year I asked for a collection of Robert Frost's poems and I still have it. I didn't really start dabbling in poetry myself until late into high school. I had a light blue spiral notebook with my poems in it, but I've lost it since we moved into this house. A lot of it was trite high schoolish poetry, but there was some occasional flashes of inspiration. Unfortunately I've lost it all.
Didn't mean for this to be kind of a downer of a letter, but it's where my train-of-thought went. It's not really a downer either, just my thoughts. Why did that inspiration I once felt so strongly peter out? Do you remember when you and I took that first walk around Provo? I was headed out looking for inspiration for stories as part of my film program application and I happened to find you at the park. You agreed to wander aimlessly with me as I looked for inspiration. At one point we passed a child's drawing in the grass and I made us sit down in the grass next to it as I pondered the scene. It led to one of the story synopsis' that I submitted to the program.
That's what life used to be to me. Now I spend so much time either banking or thinking about how much I don't like banking.
Sorry if the loss of that inspiration in my life has led to a similar loss in yours. You have never ceased to be an incredible light and joy in my life. Your presence has only ever grown in brilliance and happiness, and oh how I love you for it.
While I may not feel the same inspirations that I once felt, I have always felt the inspiration to joy in your company.
You are my good company.
I love you.

.me