Why I Write the World’s Longest Christmas Letter

 

It began innocently enough. A year after I married, I made a photo postcard of my husband and me with our baby bunnies. I wrote a few lines on the back and mailed it out at Christmas. A few years later, the postcard turned into a one-page letter with a photo enclosed in the envelope.  But over time, the Christmas letter pages multiplied–like rabbits.

The longest one I ever wrote was 98 pages, single-spaced, printed front and back on 20 lb. paper to save postage. It was part personal narrative, part travelogue, with plenty of tasty quotes, quirky facts, and whimsical anecdotes whipped together into a long rambling adventure for the reader.

Generally, my Christmas essay epistles have averaged between 12 and 20 pages, but the 2019 edition is another whopper at 56 pages. Every year–as I haul in box after box of collated, stapled sheets and spend days addressing, stamping, and stuffing envelopes–I ask myself, “Why do I persist in this madness?” And then I remember why I write the world’s longest Christmas letter.

1. To Connect with Loved Ones

I was born into a large extended family. I’ve lived many places in my life. And I’ve been abundantly blessed with friends. Mailing annual Christmas letters helps me maintain relationships over distance and time and busyness. Recipients may well use my pages to line their bird cages or bundle them to kindle fires, but at least they know I care enough to send the very best–a gift of myself.

2. To Package the Past Year

A lot can happen in a year. Yet, let’s be honest, much of life is boring and mundane: I make the bed, unload the dishwasher, heat the kettle, fold the clothes, etc. But when I sit down to write a month by month chronicle, I sift out the best bits. Someone wise (but unidentifiable) once said, “Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

That’s not to say that I only record the big stuff. Mostly I caress the tiny details. For example, it’s not enough for me to note that I helped plan a friend’s bridal shower. Instead, I must preserve that tender, exquisitely hilarious moment when my friend Lauren tore the wrapping paper from her wedding gift only to discover a bright red box of Huggies diapers. Ah, the look on her face!

No, the gift wasn’t really a box of diapers. And no, the recipient would not be needing diapers for at least another year. But obviously, the giver was a young mom who required a box and used what was convenient. Like a small child, I discover a world full of wonder as I remember–forgetting the actual gift, but delighting in the packaging.