Me at 14, right after eighth grade graduation.
We’re doing things a little differently today! Instead of normal quick takes, I’m giving you two letters that I wrote to myself at different ages.
Emily Stimpson Chapman is running a contest on Instagram to promote her new book, Letters To Myself at the End of the World. To enter, you write “letters” to your younger selves about four topics—so far, they’ve been on The Church and holiness.
I’ve really loved doing this and I thought I’d share my letters with those of you who might not be on Instagram!
I’m posting them in “age” order, so the one to 14 year old me, on the Church, is first.
Dear Emily,
You just graduated from eighth grade. You’ve spent your entire life surrounded by Catholics, by people who believe what you believe, and live how you live. When you go to high school, that will change.
Within your first month, you’ll be asked if you’re “saved” at the lunch table. You’ll answer that you’re Catholic, and everyone will look at you “like you have lobsters crawling out of [your] ears.” You’ll be told that you’re going to Hell because you’re Catholic. (Don’t worry. In the midst of all of this you’ll make wonderful, lifelong friends!)
You’ve never heard any of this before. You’ve never been told that your Church is wrong, that what you believe is false or silly.
You have two choices—you can be embarrassed by your faith and hide it, or try to change it. Or, you can delve into its richness and find out what you believe, and why you believe it.
You’ll choose the second option. You’ll get the family bible out from under the glass-topped coffee table, and you’ll read it, and the big beige Catechism. You’ll stick post-it notes inside to mark pages (the start of a life long habit that will set you up well for majoring in the liberal arts). And in all of this reading and debating at the lunch table, you’ll fall more deeply in love with the Church.
The Church is not perfect. You know this. You’ll meet plenty of imperfect people, even criminals, in the church. You’re not perfect yourself. ;-) But you will never leave it, because where else would you go?
You love Mary and the rosary; the rosary, in fact, will become your life line (Literally, at times. Seriously). You love the Eucharist so much it can make you breathless at Mass. You love the saints, the sacraments (even confession, which you’ll learn to like more!), and the liturgy. You cannot image giving up any of this, or thinking that any of it isn’t true.
Most of the people in your life will not be Catholic. You will be, in some places, the only Catholic they’ve ever met. You will have to talk about the church over taco salad at your office (it’s always over lunch!).
The Church is your home. It’s your family’s home—generations and generations of Heilmanns and Dorrians and Ireardis and Corrados, back and back and back, to Ireland and Germany and Italy and Scotland. It’s *you*. You are welded to its body, grafted into it—and it will feed you forever. In every moment of your life, it is home. You will weep in pews. You will rail against God’s designs there. You will rejoice. You will cry from happiness. You will be filled with thanksgiving. You will ask why.
Everything, everything is laid bare at the altar. It’s your strength. Never lose it.
Love,
Emily
To 23 year old me, about holiness:
