Once upon a time, I lived for finding real letters in my real mailbox. I would eagerly walk the mile to the mail box and back every day with the eager hope that there would be an entire stack of envelopes with my name hand written on them.
With a few dozen regular pen pals and a good number of irregular ones, I almost always got at least one letter a week. When there was a whole pile with my name on it, it felt like Christmas. I would carry it home in my pocket, climb into one of my favorite places, and savor each word and page. And then work on a reply the next moment I could! These were the good old days of snail mail, and I loved every minute of it.
Well, that was an awfully long time ago.
Now, I get piles of mail with my name on them every day. There’s the advertisement for TV service I don’t want. There’s the next in a series of awfully un-fun hospital bills. There’s promotional magazines I never look at. It’s a rare day that I get real mail anymore. I often miss those golden days quite a lot.
I miss the time and the thought and the heart that went into the thousands of pages of letters that I wrote and received.
And on those rare, wonderful days when there is something real in the mail box with my name on it? A lot of times lately it’s been from an amazing woman I feel privileged to know. It is only right that I dedicate this post to Jessica of Life in the White House. She faithfully sends notes and “I’m praying for you” cards. They’ve often been such a highlight of my day! And get this: she has triplets. If anyone had an excuse not to send cards, it’d be her. But she still makes time for it, and every note I get feels like such an honor.
This year, I want to be more like Jessica. I want to get better at sending a few of my own notes. I know I can’t be the only one who misses handwritten letters. Maybe they won’t be 20 page epistles, but even the smallest note makes me happy.
And if I were making a list of Great Things about every day life, snail mail would be on that list.