Earlier this summer the man who pastored the church I grew up in for twenty-two years celebrated his eightieth birthday. Eighty is significant in and of itself, but several years ago, this man was the recipient of a heart transplant ~ which really makes every birthday thereafter one of special significance. To honor his eightieth, my home church encouraged everyone to send him a birthday card. I made a mental note to do so, and then let the date slip by me. Several weeks after his birthday, something jogged my memory and I finally took the time to write a short note and send a belated card.
Last week, while on one of his follow-up visits to the Cleveland Clinic, that beloved pastor passed away.
I’ve always liked cards and notes and tangible expressions of cheer or support or encouragement. I think there’s something particularly special in this age of digital everything to have something physical to hold onto and cherish. Sure, I save emails and texts that mean something to me. But, even if I could locate an email from 2001, there is no handwriting to relish… no paper to feel or personal touch to admire.
Real handwritten letters and notes age and yellow with time. But, still, they save.
In fact, last week I found a note that pastor had written me in 1997 tucked into the jacket of a book he authored. And, that little piece of paper is now all the more significant because it is a tangible expression of his wisdom and kindness.
Paper isn’t typically expensive, but the value it holds when marked by our handwriting with some expression of what is on our mind or heart is priceless.
I cannot believe how many times I think to myself, “I should send ____ a note/card.” And, then I don’t do it. I forget. Or, I fall victim to busyness. Or mindlessness. I choose to play on my phone instead. Or eat a snack. Or do anything except take the time to write and mail a little note.
Yet, I know… Time spent writing something down to share with someone else is rarely wasted.
Here is a letter the 2nd Grader wrote us sometime last year…
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