Time to check the mail

The postman walked by one day last summer, trudging a bit in the blazing summer sunshine as he neared the end of his route. I was sitting in the shade of our hackberry tree, weeding.

"Didja' leave me anything fun today?" I inquired as he came down the porch steps.

Drawn from his private reverie, he was slow to respond, "Fun? I don't think so."

He added, "Unless it's a birthday or an anniversary, it's never anything fun anymore."

I can relate.

I love getting mail. When we were first exiled to Wyoming, we set up housekeeping in a little alley house not too far from Danny's job. We had no car at the time, and were grateful to be situated near the grocery store and laundromat. But the trek I came to love and dread simultaneously, was the walk to the front of the house at the front of the lot to check the mailbox for 1005 1/2 Robertson. Nine times out of 10 it was empty, though I longed for a note, a card, or a letter. Even a junk mail catalog was a welcome diversion, at least it provided evidence that I existed somewhere outside of my four little alley house walls -- unless it was addressed to "occupant."

When we lived in the mobile home court in Brighton, our landlady had the misfortune of breaking her ankle while going down her basement steps. At that time, mail was delivered to a post office box, where the manager collected it and then sorted and hand-delivered it to each lot. I took over that responsibility that summer while Laura mended, and got a brief taste of the mail carrier's plight. It was good exercise and I could take the children with me on my deliveries. Those were the pluses. I learned quickly that all you have time to do is check the address, and you don't care to (nor should you), note from whence the communication came. I also learned that dogs are scary. There was one, on the thickest chain imaginable, that scared me no end on my daily rounds. He made up for his small stature with a growl and bark that rivaled any of the big dogs in my experience and he stretched that chain until I was sure either his neck or that chain was going to give way. He never warmed up to me, nor I to him.

Another lesson learned was the same lesson shared by my postal carrier. Unless there's a birthday or an anniversary, the mail is really kind of boring. Just check the address, drop it in, move along. No wonder he was caught up in his own private reverie.

The other lesson I've learned about mail is that if you want to get any, you have to be willing to send some out.

Postal carriers are missing out on the cards and letters of yesteryear as more and more people take advantage of the Internet and e-mail. Though it lightens their physical load, I imagine they miss the brightly colored envelopes decorating the otherwise endless sea of white in their leather bags.

Soon enough, it will be time to send holiday greetings. I worked long and hard to develop my list of recipients, from less than a half-dozen cards sent from Worland, Wyo., in 1975, to an average of 45-50, 30 years later. I guess the number has stayed pretty constant for the past 20 years or so. Names dropped when a card is returned marked un-deliverable are quickly replaced by new names. I try to keep the list manageable, knowing from experience that sometimes the budget simply won't allow a massive mailing.

This year I'm going to purposely send greetings to some names I've passed over in years past just because it's been so long since I've heard anything from them. Who knows how often they walk to the mailbox, only to return, empty-handed?

Just a quick note on the blizzard.

If God needed a middle name, it would have to be "Provider."

Not only did he get all of our loved ones home safe and sound well ahead of the threatening wind and snow, he also provided bounteously for our Thanksgiving table, yielding sufficient leftovers to keep any lingering hunger pangs at bay during the long holiday weekend.

Then, to top it all off, in his inimitable style, he provided a vigorous post-holiday workout to help use up the calories consumed all weekend.

Isn't it just like him to see and to meet every need?

"...let us encourage one another -- and all the more as you see the Day approaching." Hebrews 10:25 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven:

Pink slips