A Life in Exile

I’ve started another cleaning project—going through stuff in my garage, starting with the scrapbooks I made as a young girl. Boy, did I keep everything! While it’s fun to look back at ticket stubs and programs from museums and plays, what has caught my eye the most are the letters. These are handwritten letters—from siblings, cousins, my parents, and friends. Written at a time before we lost connection with day-to-day life and the importance of hearing from someone we love.

Two letters stood out to me in particular. Both were written within a week of each other. One was from my mother and the other from my father. The year was 1987. I was in Cote d’Ivoire, West Africa, serving a two-year mission term. My parents, now both retired, were spending the summer at a Baptist conference center in North Carolina. Mom worked in the media center and Dad just had fun going to various sessions, listening to his favorite Christian leaders of the day.

The letters revealed that not long before their summer ended, my dad’s older brother died. It was sudden, and while he and my aunt were on vacation in Canada. Each letter reflects the impact of his death on their lives.

Moms and details.

In her beautiful cursive writing, Mother tells me all the details about my uncle’s death. There were no cell phones to pick up and call overseas at this time. Long-distance calling was expensive. Though they did make an initial call to tell me of his passing, the details would have to come in a letter, which was more within their budget at the time.

I read my mother’s letter and hear her voice. Letters allow you to do that. She starts the letter at one point in the day, but ends it hours or even a day later. Unlike email, letter-writing is a slower process, allowing you to think about what you’re saying and making sure you’re getting all the news on paper. Both letters are four pages long—a reminder that this is an effort in love and time.

With the passage of time in her writing, Mom moves from the details of my uncle’s passing and funeral to the present-day reality of life at the conference center. She tells me about people I don’t remember and others who were from our home church. She ends with some sad news about a couple who are getting a divorce, and with this line: “It seems family life and marriage is not sacred anymore.” Since she passed away in 1998, I’m thankful she’s not around to see how true that is in the twenty-first century.

Dad’s love for God’s Word.

Written a week after Mom’s letter, I was surprised at how little Dad said about his only brother’s death. Three siblings, he had already lost his sister, so now I know he was feeling his brother’s death much more than he would tell me. He related it to the way his father had died, as they both had massive heart attacks and died instantly. They also died in their early seventies, and, as Dad was 62 in 1987, he noted that his perspective toward his father’s death had changed. Though he dreaded those years, my dad would outlive them both, though he, too, died of a heart attack at 90.

Dad’s letter reminded me of how much I confided in my father. As his baby girl, we were very close, and the rest of his letter is filled with words of wisdom and verses from the Bible. His guidance was important, as I was considering seminary upon my return from Africa. In his engineering-influenced manuscript writing, he reminds me of what’s important: Be willing to do God’s will. That’s all I needed. The willing heart—God would reveal the details in his own, good way and through his Word.

His letter would also include clippings from various state Baptist papers. He liked to keep me up on news, and he always added a few comics, or “funnies,” as he called them. Dad loved to keep things light and have a good laugh.

Love.

Both letters end in the same way: “I love you lots.” Whether signed Mama or Daddy, the love was there, and I knew it.

I knew it because of what the letters said, but also because of the letters themselves. They loved me, so took the time to write to me. Mother’s letters were pretty much a weekly occurrence (she always wrote on Sundays). After she died, Dad tried to keep up her practice, but I think he was happy when we both got email, and he could keep up with me faster!

I’m feeling a bit sentimental now, as I close this post. No more letters. I miss their input into my life as much as I miss hearing about all their news, exciting or not. Letters connect you to those you love, and for a brief moment, these letters reconnected me to them, and I’m grateful.

Grace and Peace

If you missed the last Wednesday Wisdom, click HERE, or check out these other posts about family: Keepsakes Worth Keeping, Your Psalm 23, Tell the Children, Age-old Wisdom, Love to a Wife, Wisdom of the Ages, and Becoming Like Him.