To read the introductory post to this series click here.
There is a woman up in Washington who has watched me grow since I was one year old. Her name is Mrs. T. I haven't seen Mrs. T. more than once a year in the last decade, but still she prays for me every day. She also writes me letters, sometimes daily, and sends occasional packages. Last week she mailed me a book. A few weeks before that, an earring holder. A few weeks before that, another book.
I used to forget to check my mail. All those bills, bills, bills. Who needs 'em! But since Mrs. T. started writing me regularly last winter, I can't wait until the mailman comes. I love my trips to the mailbox. I love rifling through bills to find a letter addressed to me by hand, with a return address from Washington. I love tearing it open to find a newsy update on happenings in my hometown. I love the reminders that God is putting it on someone's heart, 1,000 miles away, to pray for me.
|It's been years and years since I've had a pen pal|
These letters are always bearers of grace, and I'm so so thankful for them.
© by scj