Letter Life

I smell of aftershave, from the hands that just finished getting ready for the day.  He just HAD to get this done – had to do it. Not because of duty, but because of love and care. his sponsored children are like all other kids – they don’t ring. When a phone rings, you are notified immediately. Sure, sometimes children ring by crying or yelling, but, in general, the caregiver has to make the move – to hug, to direct, to plan, to prepare the meals, to look ahead, guide, train. But those children don’t ring – he needed to make time to get this vital task done.

(Sometimes, tears fall on me, though I can’t always tell who’s letting them fall.)

It’s insightful, being a letter. there’s a connection, like a lamp plugged into a socket. The pen is what connects his soul to my surface – I read his thoughts, hear his musings. I keep telling him to use a pencil so that he can ease, but he frequently disregards my age-old sage advice.

I travel in any and every direction, over land, over ocean, over desert – in all of my travels, I’m inside something that’s inside something that’s inside something else. Who knows how many “inside something”s I go through. It’s good that I don’t have motion sickness.

But I’ve learned from all the letters before me what the goal is – it’s is to be in someone else’s hand. Knowing the landscape, seeing the sea from 30,000 feet, taking note of all of the faces who carry and care for me – those add nothing to my mission (perhaps it’s more of my purpose than my mission?). My purpose is to reach the child with this message from the sponsor. It’s the faces of those children and families that I need to see. What message? It’s different each time. Many times it’s simple news – a loving reminder, like a breeze on a still, hot day reminding one that, despite the doldrums, life continues to move. At times, it’s not good – a farewell, a sad event, even new s of tragedy.

But these letter are always from one point of view – love for that child and family.

In this busy, hi-tech age, there are still limitations around the globe. Low-tech worlds need to stay connected to hi-tech things using low tech means – and that means is me.

I can’t auto-size my font. If I’m made sloppy, or dropped in a puddle, I can’t be fixed. I have misspellings that don’t have a squiggly ling under them. But I can be made and sent and accessed by pretty much anyone, anywhere, anytime. I am simple. I am a letter.

Signing off