A lost art

When I was in college and dating The Mister long distance, we wrote letters. Ahhh love letters, the 1990 version of test messaging, except I still have those love letters and I usually  delete his text messages at the end of the day.  We won’t discuss the deficit of love- dovey text from him. He has perfected an abbreviated form of communication where entire sentences are transmitted  in a few letters.  ” I have big fingers” is his excuse, but that is another post for another day.  Sometimes when I’m cleaning out a drawer or looking for something important that he has accused me of throwing away, I find them in that little lavender box I keep them in and read them. They make me smile. I guess I will keep them and read them to my grandbabies one day and they will laugh at how silly in love The Mister was.

Twenty-four years later, there is not much love letter writing that goes on anymore. My girls communicate via texting,  Snapchat or Facetime with their boyfriends. ( I’m told that Facebook is now designated for the older population)  I sure would have loved to have been able to Facetime with The Mister in 1990, but I would not trade those love letters for a million Facebook statuses declaring his of love. Knowing The Mister, I would not have had such obvious displays of affections across Facebook for the whole wide world to read anyways.  That’s just not his style.

Letter writing has sadly become a lost art.  When is the last time you got an honest to goodness letter or even handwritten note card from a friend, delivered via the good ole US mail?  Mailboxes these days are for worthless credit card applications, grocery store flyers and the LL Bean catalogs that still seem to find me no matter where I go.

Only yesterday, on my way home from a very, very long day that had turned night, I found this in my mailbox.


No earth shattering news inside. Just a simple beautiful note from a friend telling me why I was important to her and why she was glad we were friends.  She takes this ministry very seriously because that is exactly what it is.  She probably has no idea what it does for the friends she sends them to.

I’m sad that  letter writing seems to be a lost art reserved only for those thoughtful souls that understand the importance of words of love and encouragement written down to be kept in special lavender boxes. On cloudy days when it’s hard to remember you are loved,  we pull out the lavender boxes and reread those cards. They make us smile and sometimes they make us cry, but either way, they remind us we are loved. They tell us in script handwriting that we are special enough for someone to write it down and send it in the mail.

What a treasure!

She could have just sent me a text and I love those sporadic text friends send us at just the right time. Lord knows with her two little boys it would have been easier, but I’m awful glad she went to all the trouble.

So glad, I dug out some stationary from my desk drawer and decided to write a few long postponed letters to people I love. So they will know on those cloudy days, they are loved.


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