As a young woman, I was away from home a lot, traveling full-time, making music, giving back to God what he had given me. And although I traveled with my older sister and my then brother-in-law, I was lonely at times, missing the familiar, dreaming of stability and a place to call my own. Judging by the volume of letters in this storage bin, people missed me just as much as I missed them.
I've got letters from my twin. Letters from Mother. Letters from Daddy. Letters from the grandparents. Letters from girl friends. Lady friends. One or two boyfriends. In fact, if you wrote me a letter ever, it is probably in my stash of stuff, and I'm so not kidding. The addresses represent where I was singing at the time. California. Florida. Indiana. Ohio. Mississippi. Alabama. Louisiana. And on and on they go.
Many of the letters beg to be read, and after an hour or so of reading, I pause and ponder: What if we had had text messaging in my globe-trotting days? And laptops? And Wi-Fi? And Facebook? And blogs? Would my life have been richer?
It was an intriguing question for sure, and the truth of the matter is, I don't know. I don't know if my life would've been richer 35 years ago with instant access to those I loved and missed. But I do know that my life is richer today because of these hand-written notes from family and friends. They are treasures in tattered envelopes to me—each paragraph, each sentence, each word. And on this lazy, rainy Saturday afternoon, they are warming my heart like a million text messages never could.