Today at church, we finished up a series with Jeff Henderson, one of our campus pastors. He told us we should never assume the people we love know how we feel about them. He said that his mother used to write him letters, letters he now writes for his own children.
My dad used to write me letters growing up. I remember his handwriting, small, bold letters in all caps, and his sweet words of love and encouragement. There is nothing like a father's love for his children. My dad showed me that.
And because I love writing, and receiving, handwritten letters, I decided it was time to spend some of my Sunday afternoon doing just that. I have tons of unused stationary, and tomorrow morning it will find its way into the back of a USPS truck and on towards three other, very important, mailboxes.
I am going to do my best to follow through with all my new, unexpected goals which have popped up over the course of the last two months. I guess dealing with some depression and anxiety has served me well. All I long for now is time with people who matter and time spent on good things, things that make me look up and whisper a quiet, "Thank You". These letters are a step in that direction.
And, in case you didn't know it already, I love you, whoever you are.