"Most children 'see' God the way they perceive their earthly fathers..." - Dr. James Dobson, from The Strong-Willed Child

Walking to the greenhouse with daddy

 Father's Day is this weekend, and as I have been in and out of stores, I have been reminded of this in a vivid way.  I think a lot more about my daddy during this week every year.  I was blessed with a wonderful daddy.  To most who knew him, he was a quiet, reserved man.  But I remember a daddy who was passionate about his God, his family, his gardening, his woodworking, his fishing and hunting, and his books.  He was a very intelligent and gifted man, and when he suddenly and unexpectedly left this life in October of 2003, the world - especially my world - lost a great man.  I miss him, his laugh, his hugs, but mostly I miss his wisdom.  I cannot count the times I have wished I could pick up the phone and call him since he left - I felt that way this past week, in fact.

Never too old to sit on Daddy's lap

My daddy taught me a lot - some of it by example, and a lot of it by much needed discipline.  He helped me to learn that the world did not revolve around me (which early on, I was sure that it did!), that he was deserving of my respect and honor, and that my obedience to him was not optional.  He also taught me about nature - he was a wonderful gardener, and astronomer as well.  He built a telescope from scratch, and I have wonderful memories of standing on a stool and looking through my father's creation at my Father's Creation.  He would tell me about the different constellations and stars, and I was fascinated by all of that at an early age.  As a boy, he taught himself how to play the harmonica, and I always loved listening to him play.  One summer when I was young, we spent most evenings out in the backyard swing, where he taught me how to play it, too.  He would take me fishing with him quite often as well, and I always loved being with my daddy - it didn't really matter where, or what we were doing.  He made me feel safe, and secure, and loved.

With Daddy in the backyard swing

January 2, 1988

The new daddy and his girls

Father and son

                                                  Because of my daddy's teaching and influence, I knew what kind of man to search for to spend my life with.  In a lot of ways, my husband is like my father.  Jeff is generally quiet in demeanor, is an engineer (as was my dad), and also has a passion for God, and for his family.  On September 21, 1990, Jeff became a father - the father of my children, and those three who call him "Dad" will tell you he is the best of the best!  Jeff was a "hands-on" daddy from the very beginning, and I doubt I would've lived through those early years without his help!

Play time!

He has loved our kids from the start in a sacrificial, Godly way.  He has taught them to love, honor, and obey him as their father, and has been involved in every aspect of their lives.  I remember how he would come home from work when they were little to screams of delight - "Daddy's home!!"  He would always take the time to wrestle and play, even after a long, hard day at work.  He helped them build things, and participated with them in scouts, as well as other school activities.  He was the "go to" guy for any homework help that involved math or science, and always handled those sessions with infinite patience.  As the spiritual leader of our home, he taught them to love and obey God, and I will never forget the three separate late-night trips to the church building where he baptized each one of them into Christ.

Reading to Caleb

First Father's Day - 1991

   He is a daddy who loves his Princess, his Sweet Pea, and his Buddy Boy, and they still seek his advice and wisdom.  They love to joke and tease him about different "private" jokes they have shared through the years, but their relationship with him is built on love, and trust, and affection - he still kisses all three of them goodnight when they are here - yes, even our 21 year old son.

The quote in the title of this post is so true.  The earliest impression a child will have of our Heavenly Father will be in large part based on how they perceive their earthly father.  I have been impressed in my Bible study with the amount of time devoted in Scripture to the portrayal of God as our Father.  One of the most moving and profound is in the parable of the Prodigal Son (which I believe is better titled the Loving Father).  How beautifully Jesus expresses in that parable the love and concern our God has for us - His children.

I was blessed to have Bob Meadows as my daddy, and would not trade that heritage for anything.  I am thankful for all he taught me, and mostly for how he always pointed me toward God.  I am also blessed with Jeff as the loving, Godly father of the three who call me "Mom."  I could never have asked for a better daddy for my children than him.  I'm especially thankful for the spiritual leadership he has provided in our home for all these years.  May I never take these men for granted, and may I always be especially grateful for the way they each have pointed their children to know and love the Heavenly Father.

So enjoy your Father's Day as you honor your fathers and husbands, and maybe even your sons who are fathers.  We desperately need such men so much in today's world!  But don't forget to honor the most important Father on the Lord's Day - the one who has adopted us as His children (Eph. 1:3-5), and who loves us more than any earthly father is capable of.

"Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!"  ~1 John 3:1      

"Your life can change in an instant. That instant can last forever.” ~Laura Kasischke

Several months ago, I wrote about a book I had read to our girls when they were younger, and I was re-reading it now - "Walk Two Moons" by Sharon Creech.  That day, I focused on the main theme of the book, and how we should "never judge a man until you've walked two moons in his moccasins."  Certainly, a good rule to live by.

I am not doing a book review today.  But I do want to use some passages from this book to help set the stage for sharing something that happened in my life this past weekend, so bear with me . . .

In addition to the "moccasins" theme, four other lessons are impressed upon the main character in "Walk Two Moons" (a young girl named Sal).  One which she is poignantly faced with is that "everyone has his own agenda."  And that is true in life, isn't it?  Sal's mother left her, and at one point as she is reflecting on that, she has these thoughts:  "I started...remembering the day before my mother left.  I did not know it was to be her last day home.  Several times that day, my mother asked me if I wanted to walk up in the fields with her.  It was drizzling outside, and I was cleaning out my desk, and I just did not feel like going.  'Maybe later,' I kept saying.  When she asked me for about the tenth time, I said, 'No!  I don't want to go.  Why do you keep asking me?'  I don't know why I did that.  I didn't mean anything by it, but that was one of the last memories she had of me, and I wished I could take it back... I had my own agenda that day... I couldn't see my own mother's sadness."

Sal also learned that "in the course of a lifetime, what does it matter?"  As she ponders this question, she reaches an important conclusion:  "I wondered about all the things in the course of a lifetime that would not matter.  I did not think cheerleading tryouts would matter, but I was not so sure about yelling at your mother.  I was certain, however, that if your mother left, it would be something that mattered in the whole long course of your lifetime."

In recent years, and as the result of various life experiences, I have tried to apply both of these principles in my own life.  I know that everyone has his own agenda, and while not always 100% successful, I try as best I can to be understanding and sensitive to the agendas of other people, knowing that my own agenda might not always be aligned with theirs.  I also make every effort to keep life in perspective by considering if whatever might be consuming my thoughts and energies will really matter in the course of a lifetime.

Life can change in an instant.  We all know that, and hopefully we live our lives with that truth in mind.  In relationships with the people I love, I make sure I always tell them I love them each time we part, or whenever we end a phone conversation.  I am pretty certain the people I love know that I love them without me having to say that, but what if I've "had my own agenda" that particular day, and haven't been tuned in to theirs?  And what if that encounter becomes the last time I see or talk to them?  In the course of a lifetime, it would matter greatly.

Saturday was a typical day at my house.  The weather was gorgeous, and while I sat in our sunroom finishing up our income tax return, Jeff was outside trimming the shrubs around our swimming pool, to make room for some new plants in those beds.  I was focused on the task at hand, thinking about attending a baby shower later that afternoon, and hopefully spending some time outside later in day.  That's when I heard the sound of the electric hedge trimmers, followed by a loud, panicked yell from my husband.

Jeff - my careful, always safety conscious mate - had slipped, and he had fallen into the swimming pool, fully clothed, iPhone in his pocket, ... and a plugged-in, electric hedge trimmer in his hand.  Suddenly, my agenda changed.  And in the course of a lifetime - in that particular moment - trimmed shrubs, wet iPhones, income tax returns, baby showers, and beautiful spring weather did not matter at all.  My only thought was that the person I love most in this world was in peril.  Thankfully, Jeff made it out of that pool with only a shock, but it made me tremble to consider what easily might have happened in that moment.  My former employer lost an adult son to a similar accident.  When the full weight of what "could have" happened settled in on me, it even made me cry.

I've thought a lot about that moment since Saturday, and how differently my weekend - and my life - would have played out if Jeff had received a bigger shock.  I'm confident that in my relationship with him, I would not have any regrets.  We have built our life together and our marriage upon the principle of never leaving anything left unsaid or unresolved.  And I am also quite confident in where he would spend eternity if he had suddenly left this life Saturday morning when he stepped into that pool.  But my life would've been forever changed.

I'm thankful beyond words that he is ok.  I was thankful when we sat down together and ate dinner, when he held my hand, and when we went together to drive the Azalea Trails later in the evening.  I smiled when his snoring caused me to reach for my ear plugs during the night, and I was even thankful when he left his wet, dirty clothes draped over the bathtub, leaving clods of dirt scattered in the tub.  Because in the course of a lifetime, the mess and the dirt will not matter.  In fact, they are nice reminders to me as I look at them still there today that he is still here today.  I'm also thankful for the reminder of the brevity and uncertainty of life.

So if you see me this week, I hope you find me to be trying to figure out your agenda, and giving mine a backseat with renewed fervency.  Because in the course of lifetime, the only thing that really matters is my love and service to God, and making sure that I treat every encounter I have with the people in my life as if it were my last.

"Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again."  ~Og Mandino

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints." ~Psalm 116:15

That passage of Scripture has been going through my head a lot the past few days.  It first came to mind yesterday when I received an email that said that doctors had exhausted all resources, and my friend would soon die.  It again came to mind later that morning as I stood with members of her physical and spiritual families in her hospital room, and joined with them in singing hymns to her.  She knew what was happening, and although she could not speak, she smiled.  And again, that verse from Psalm 116 crossed my mind once more when I received word a few hours later that she had passed from this life.  Precious, indeed.

I never called her anything except Sister Glover, but she emailed me frequently, and would always end her emails with "Love, Mrs. G."  I first met her in the Spring of 1984 when I traveled to Florida College on my high school spring break to visit my friend who was a student there.  My friend had failed to tell her I was coming, and Sister Glover gave me a stern once over, but graciously allowed me to stay with my friend in her dorm room for the week - Sister Glover was the dorm mother there, and was greatly loved by "her girls".

Years later, when we moved to the Tyler area, I again encountered Sister Glover.  She was now living in Tyler, and was a member of the Rice Road church, where we placed our membership.  She quickly endeared herself to our family.  I never saw Sister Glover without a smile on her face.  She always seemed genuinely glad to see me, and would always hold my hand as we visited - always.

Sister Glover was a "there you are" type of person - always interested in YOU, and what was going on in your life.  She loved my children, and had a "tea party" for the preteen girls one time that my girls greatly enjoyed.  She would also write and mail them letters once every few weeks, which she titled "letters from Grandmother."  They were words of wisdom, exhorting and encouraging my daughters to follow after God in their youth.  It touched me that she would take the time to do that, and it also impressed me that she sent those letters to my girls individually - - so often they would get lumped together as one entity called "the twins," but Sister Glover never did that.  She was also quite fond of Caleb, and would often make me laugh in recent years as she would tell me she saw this or that which Caleb had posted on Facebook - she would usually say something like, "I saw Caleb's post - but, honey, I just didn't understand it!"  Smiling all the while.

Her life was not easy.  She shared with me some difficult trials she faced as a young girl - things which would have caused many young women to give up.  But not Sister Glover.  During her middle-aged years, she suffered the tragic loss of her husband and one of her sons in a car accident, in which she was severely injured - an injury that affected her for the rest of her life.  But, again, she worked through her loss, and found ways to lovingly serve and give to others, with a heart full of joy.

Personally, Sister Glover encouraged me as a wife and mother to stay devoted to those tasks.  She encouraged me to take an active role in teaching the younger women, and she would tell me, "Honey, you can relate better to them than I can, because you are closer to their age."  Every year on my birthday, she would tell me that her mother had also been born on that day, and that made my birthday even more special, she would say.

I was special to Sister Glover.  She told me so often.  I can still see and hear her, as she would hold my hand and in her smiling, sweet, quiet demeanor say, "You're special to me, and I love you!"  But, I'm not the only one.  You see, Sister Glover had the unique ability to make everyone she encountered feel loved and special.  She even created a Facebook group called "Special" - I looked at it earlier today, and she had added 70 people to that group.  People were special to her, especially God's people.

The last conversation I had with her was about this blog.  Last week she came to me and said, "Honey, I didn't know you had a blog until just the other day!  Why didn't you tell me?"  And then she went on to ask me why I didn't write more often, and said she would be waiting for my next entry.  She didn't know (nor did I) that I would feel compelled to write about her in that entry, and she certainly didn't know she wouldn't be here to read it.  But, that's ok, because she's in a much better place right now.

I'm convinced that yesterday afternoon, the angels carried the precious soul of Chris Glover to Abraham's bosom as they did the beggar in Luke 16.  Sister Glover embodied the life of a woman wholly dedicated to serving God.  As I think of her, I think of such passages as Proverbs 31:30 - "Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord shall be praised."  I also think of Titus 2:3-5, which states, "the older women likewise, that they be reverent in behavior, not slanderers, not given to much wine, teachers of good things—  that they admonish the young women to love their husbands, to love their children,  to be discreet, chaste, homemakers, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be blasphemed."  Sister Glover was that, and did that.  And I also think of Acts 9:36-43, where the disciples were grieving the death of Dorcas who "was always doing good, and helping the poor."  We, too, grieve for ourselves, who will miss our dear, sweet, sister in Christ.  Our "Dorcas," who never quit loving, serving, and doing good.

But thankfully, because of God's grace, we won't have to miss her forever.  "But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus"  (1 Thess. 4:13-14).  I'll see her again.  And it makes me smile to think she'll greet me again one day with that sweet smile, as she takes my hand, and says, "Oh, honey, it's so good to see you here!"

“Don't judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.” ~Sharon Creech, Walk Two Moons

As our children were growing up, we read books out loud to them every night at bedtime.  We covered a wide range of works, from the Little House series, to the Chronicles of Narnia, and other classics like Winnie the Pooh, and Charlotte's Web.  I always enjoyed these readings, especially the underlying life messages in these books that are often lost on children.

One of the books we read which had the greatest impact on me was "Walk Two Moons" by Sharon Creech.  I've recently begun to re-read this Newberry Medal winner.  Several quotes occur in the novel which have profound meaning - things like, "Everyone has their own agenda;"  "In the course of a lifetime, what does it matter?"  "You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair;"  and "We never know the worth of water until the well is dry."  But perhaps the most important quote in the book is its title:

"Never judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins."

While reading the book through the first time with our girls, I did just that with one of the main characters - I judged.  Even while reading that phrase repeatedly in the book, I was quite certain I would NEVER do what Sal's mother had done.  Then I got to the end of the book, and realized that I had judged wrongly.  Why?  Because I didn't have ALL of the facts.  I didn't know the details.  I had not walked in her moccasins.  And all of that led me to view Sal's mother in a way that was wrong, and a great injustice to her.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I recently saw this video in a friend's Facebook post which further reinforces the problem which I believe we all struggle with to some degree:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfeXxkbgCVE

We see others, and we judge.  We might look at the way they handle a trial in their lives - something we've never gone through ourselves - and we think of all kinds of reasons why WE think they aren't handling it well.  We can list the things they should do to deal with it better - and we don't understand why they do (or don't do) certain things they way they do.  We might even offer advice, thinking we are "helping" them.  Even though we've never "walked in their moccasins."

We are also sometimes quick to judge the attitudes and motives of others, even when we don't know what is going on in their lives.  Like the video shows, everyone is dealing with something.  Maybe that clerk in the store was rude to me because they have just lost someone close to them.  Or maybe the quiet person who we view as "unfriendly" is dealing with a disease we know nothing about - they may not be "snobbish" at all.  In fact, they might just need someone to reach out to them in a loving way.

I think we've all probably been on both ends of this spectrum - Perhaps you are dealing with something difficult, and no one really understands because they haven't been where you are.  Or maybe you are looking at someone else and assigning motives that simply aren't accurate, because you don't know the details of their heartache.  In both cases, we need to be patient and understanding.

Henri Nouwen wrote, "When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.  The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."

I hope you have you have a friend like that.  I am blessed with several.  But more importantly, I hope we can all strive a little harder to BE a friend like that.  And I hope today that we will make it our goal to be a little kinder, a little sweeter, and a little more gentle with others whose pain we might not understand or even know.  

"Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood, we find a delightful creature of a boy." ~Author unknown

February 5, 1993 was a cloudy, cold day, which began quite early for me.  I had to be to Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas at 7 a.m. to get prepped for my C-section.  Jeff and I made our way there, leaving my mother with our two-year-old twins.  I still vividly remember all of the feelings I had that morning on the way to the hospital - excitement (would this baby be a boy or a girl?), trepidation (how am I going to take care of a newborn with two-year old twins?), and overwhelming thankfulness (God is so good!).  At 9:53 a.m., Dr. Weinstein held up a pudgy, black-haired, 8 lb 1 oz. baby, and exclaimed, "It's a boy!!"  And our lives haven't been the same since!

From his earliest days, Caleb was an extrovert born into a family of introverts.  He never met a stranger.  Ever.  This was quite a change for me from his sisters who were timid and scared of everyone.  He would talk to people in the library, in the grocery store, and would even try to engage the men serving the Lord's supper in conversation as they passed us the trays.  When his sisters were in first grade, he would go with me to pick them up from school in the afternoons - he quickly formed friendships with the aides who helped the car riders each day.  He called Mrs. Powers "My Lady," and Mrs. Richards, "My Friend."  And the remarkable thing about Caleb is that he maintained those friendships - he still keeps in touch with both of these ladies today.  

In a diary I kept of Caleb's childhood, I often noted how polite and thoughtful he was as a youngster.  For example, one day he told his preschool teacher, "You look beautiful today," followed by, "Where did you get that dress?"  I also recorded how at the age of 4, he would often pull out chairs at the supper table for his sisters.  

Caleb also had a vivid imagination as a youngster.  He had all kinds of imaginary friends - the most memorable was his imaginary grandfather who had red hair and a red beard, and lived in the mountains with Caleb's 25 brothers.  Once we asked him if his "grandfather" had a wife, and he said he used to, but she was eaten by a camel.  

In everything, Caleb has always enjoyed life to the fullest.

That "delightful creature of a boy" - my boy - gets one step closer to manhood today as he turns 21.  I am overwhelmed by the privilege and blessing that is mine to be the one that he calls "Mom."  In some ways I miss that wiggly, loud, cute little boy who used to try to put his little arm around me in church, who would cup my face with his hands and give me slobbery kisses, and who called me "Mommy."  That little boy who stood in the back of my grocery cart and loudly sang the "10 plagues song," and who, when he couldn't sleep at night would call me into his room, and when asked what was wrong would simply reply with a very animated, "Somepin!"  Yes, I miss that boy.

But what I have in place of that boy is a bigger, more mature version of the same.  That little Caleb that loved people, and was thoughtful and sensitive to the needs of others is now my Eagle Scout, Communication major, son of God, who still never meets a stranger, loves people, and makes friends wherever he goes.  That imaginative youngster who enjoyed life to the fullest is now my guitar playing, wood-burning, photography-loving, sky-diving hopeful young man, who gets great joy from going to Bucee's, building fires, and taking pictures on Kyle Field during Texas A&M football games. 

Is he perfect?  No, he's not - and he'll be the first to tell you that.  But more than anything, Caleb has a heart for service to God, and a heart that has always been tender to correction and instruction.  "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth" (3 John 4).  My greatest joy as Caleb's mother is seeing him growing into a man of God.  The most humbling thought I have ever entertained as a mother is that these 3 precious souls who entered this world as a result of the choices their father and I made, will live eternally.  How thankful I am that all 3 have chosen to serve the Lord.

Happy Birthday, Buddy Boy!  Thank you for bringing such joy and fun to our family - we would be a pretty boring bunch without you!  I can't wait to see what you do with the rest of your life as you continue to serve others with God as your center and focus.  "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be."

“Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.” ~Maya Angelou

When I wrote about letter writing a few weeks ago, I received several comments about phone calls.  Voices.  Just as handwriting is unique to each writer, and it gives us an indelible, eternal piece of someone, the human voice is the same.  A baby comes into the world knowing his mother’s voice, and being calmed by it.  Voices are distinct and recognizable - - an inseparable part of each person.  And something we long to cling to after they're gone.

I recently read The First Phone Call From Heaven by Mitch Albom.  The story is set in the town of Coldwater, Michigan, where several people begin receiving telephone calls from familiar voices of deceased loved ones.  Albom shifts throughout the book between the invention of the telephone in 1876, and the current day happenings of the town of Coldwater. 

Albom writes, “The news of life is carried via telephone.  A baby's birth, a couple engaged, a tragic accident on a late-night highway -- most milestones of the human journey, good or bad, are foreshadowed by the sound of ringing.”  He also recounts the first phone call from Bell to Watson, in which Bell simply said, "Come here, I want to see you.”  Albom goes on to state, “In the uncountable human phone conversations since then, the concept has never been far from our lips.  Come here.  I want to see you.  Impatient lovers.  Long-distance friends.  Grandparents talking to grandchildren.  The telephone voice is by a seduction, a bread crumb to an appetite.  Come here.  I want to see you.”

For several years before my father passed away, he would often call me – at least once a week – in the morning hours after Jeff had left for work and the kids were at school.  I can still hear his familiar voice as I answered the phone, saying, “What’s going on over there?”  Quickly followed by, “How are the little shavers?”  Those calls were always brief, and never about anything important – they were simply a father checking in with his daughter for a few quiet moments between them.  During the first few months after his death, if my phone rang about 10 in the morning, I would have that momentary feeling of, “That’s probably Daddy…” before my reality would envelope me that he was never calling me again.  It was the ringing of that same phone that brought the voice of my brother telling me that Daddy was gone.  And interestingly, my brother’s voice sounds hauntingly similar to my dad’s – sometimes when my brother calls, it gives me momentary pause.

This morning, I received a phone call from a long-distance friend who lives over a thousand miles away.  She and I rarely see one another, and we don’t even get to talk on the phone that often.  But when I hear her familiar voice on the other end of the phone, time and distance seem to evaporate.  We talked for over two hours this morning about a wide variety of topics ranging from the serious to the mundane.  They were two hours well-spent, because at the end of that conversation I felt refreshed, encouraged, and loved.  All because of the back-and-forth of our voices.  As special as a letter can be, there’s no substitute for the sound of a beloved voice.

Albom’s book is a work of fiction.  We all know that there are no phone calls from heaven.  But those of us who have lost loved ones tend to cling to recordings of those voices for the same reasons, I believe, that we treasure their handwritten letters.  It’s a piece of them. 

I won’t spoil the ending of Albom’s book, but it is very interesting how the characters in the book progress.  The phone calls do eventually come to an end, but as Albom concludes, “Although the town was largely saddened by the loss of heavenly voices, no one seemed to notice how, in their own way, the calls had steered people to just what they needed.”

We call out; we are answered.  It has been that way from the beginning...no soul remembered is ever really gone.”

One character in Albom’s book receives a phone call from her deceased mother, and the following conversation ensues:

“Do you still feel things in heaven, Mom?”

“Love.”

“Anything else?”

“A waste of time, Tess.”

“What is?”

“Anything else.”

So true.  Anything besides Love is a waste of time.  So as I encouraged you in my last entry, write a letter.  But then, make a phone call.  Say “I love you.”  Listen to the sound of the other voice.  Leave nothing unsaid.  Make a memory that will last long after your voice is silenced by death.

“The sweetest of all sounds is that of the voice of the (ones) we love.”  ~Jean de la Bruyere

“A letter always seemed to me like immortality because it is the mind alone without corporeal friend.” ~Emily Dickinson

My father passed away 10 years ago, and out of all the things of his I now have in my possession, the ones I treasure most are the few that contain his handwritten words.  I have one short letter he wrote to me in 1993, and I ran across it the other day.  He wrote it to include with some magazines I had asked to borrow as I prepared to teach a class.  He ended it with the words, "I am proud of you....  Love, Pop."

My daddy often told me throughout my life that he was proud of me, so it's not like this was the only confirmation I ever had of that fact.  But it is special to me, because while he is no longer here to say those words, this handwritten note reminds me.  It's a part of him, and a part of us - father and daughter.  Additionally, I am blessed to have some letters my daddy wrote to his parents while he was in college, and even a note he wrote to his grandparents when he was only 7 years old, telling them how much fun he had with them the previous day on a trip to Mineola, and how good the peas and corn were - he signed it with simple print as "Bobby Meadows." I love those glimpses I have into his life before me, as written by his own hand. 

It's not just letters.  I also have a book I gave to my daddy a few years before he died, in which he wrote an inscription that stated he wanted me to someday have that book.  I have his study Bible, which he used to teach Bible classes.  It includes copious handwritten notes.  When I'm preparing to teach a class, or whenever I'm doing some study on my own, I always go to Daddy's notes - it's the next best thing to asking him what he thought about a particular passage.  

After finding Daddy's notes, I also found several letters from my Granny.  Most of Granny's letters were about the weather, or about happenings with different relatives - nothing very deep.  But I treasure them, because they give me a piece of her, even though she's gone now.  And those letters remind me of the special grandmother/granddaughter relationship we shared, as they are all signed, "Love, Granny."  She wrote out a couple of recipes to me by hand - I also treasure these more than anything that she might have copied or printed for me.  Why?  Because they are in her own, unique handwriting.  

In 1927, my granny's older sister, Ruth, died in childbirth at the young age of 19.  Granny was only 10 years old at the time, but they had two brothers who were older than Ruth - Bryan and Edgar.  I have a handwritten letter that someone named Viola wrote to the brothers expressing her sorrow and sympathy.  It is three pages long, and contains such phrases as, "I know gladness seems impossible, but the One who took Ruth from you can also heal your broken hearts."  "Just try vision Ruth in her heavenly happiness.  I seem to see her, and I only pray that the rest of us, when our time comes, will meet it as readily and as bravely as Ruth..."  She ends the letter with, "Hoping that the depths of sorrow will soon be banished, I send my love to all."  While we might be good about picking up a Hallmark sympathy card and signing it to send to a bereaved friend, few of us would be able to pen such a rich, comforting letter. 

While I greatly treasure those writings from my family who are no longer here, I also have other letters from those who still share in my life.  I have a box full of letters that Jeff and I wrote to each other during our dating years, and other boxes full of letters from dear friends.  I never throw a handwritten letter away.  And as I perused those boxes earlier this week, I was able to relive many wonderful memories, all of them shared in familiar handwriting by some of the people I love most in this world.  A little piece of them.  A reminder of "us" - of the unique relationships I have with each of them.  I love that.

There's something special about going to the mailbox, and finding a hand-addressed envelope, and opening that to reveal a hand-written letter.  Everyone's script is as unique as their voice.  Some pages might be marked by a coffee stain, or the characteristic smudge of a lefty script.  Some will have misspelled words, or unique phrases used only by the writer.  Phyllis Theroux wrote, "To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart," and in the handwritten letter of a friend, you can see, hold, and feel a piece of their heart - not just once, but as often as you pick it back up and read it again. Unfortunately, with the technological advances in our society today, people just don't write letters as much.  We have email, text messages, phone calls, and Skype - who needs (or has time) to write a letter?  And stamps are so expensive!

After finding and re-reading the letters I have mentioned here, I am sad for our generation as well as future ones who won't have those bits and pieces of their loved ones.  As for me, I am armed with a new box of stationery, and will do my part to bring back handwritten letters - my goal is to write at least one each week this year.  I hope you'll join me - I guarantee you it will make someone smile!