Writing Letters Brings Pleasure to All

The ink flows, and so do some of my best thoughts of an encouraging and reflective nature. I am supposedly writing my note to an audience of one, the recipient. But, in truth, I find myself in the writing. I have often wished to collect the notes and letters I have sent out over the years, for they would be better than photographs at giving a snapshot of myself at the time. However, that smacks of vanity, so perhaps it is best left with the receiver, depriving me of the self-satisfaction that my pride craves. It is not only pride that wishes to glimpse back. My ever changing self would like to know from which it came, but the letters of years past are nonetheless best not retrieved. Better to put aside my wistfulness and leave the true purpose of the words I have penned uncorrupted, and turn my focus back to connecting with the one to whom the letter was addressed.

A Treasure to Keep

Some day soon each of the grandparents who have written to me from hundreds of miles away will leave this world for the next. And I intend to keep the letters and notes they took the time to write. These stacks will form a heritage, helping me to remember their loving legacy, which I hope to leave to my own grandchildren in the coming years. The charms of a personal letter on paper, thoughtfully composed, simply cannot be duplicated electronically.

In his possession my paternal grandfather has a collection of letters from women of past family generations. Through their correspondance I see women who show me they knew how to live and love life to the full, despite the hardships. I believe that reading such letters can help guard against what C.S. Lewis called "chronological snobbery", and might make a strong case that years past really were "the good old days." There is much to learn from them.

A Blessing to Share

Admittedly, since the advent of my children, I have been slack in writing notes other than from my computer keyboard. But my children love to write letters themselves. In fact, they are at present just able to write words one alphabet letter at a time. They receive such delight upon completing, folding, and enclosing their composition in a paper envelope, which they clamor to be able to put in mailboxes. And the grandparents and greatparents, friends, and other relatives who receive my children's letters and drawings, of which our house has a massive overabundance, cherish them, especially those who are older and live alone.

The art of the letter has endured for centuries, and I am loath to be a part of the trend of letting it go. And so I am resolved, for my own sake and for the generations above and below me, to return to doing what I love-taking my pen in hand and sharing life with another valued soul.