I have this box that sits in my nightstand drawer. It's an old bible box, given to me by my Nana a couple of years ago.
Inside is a special collection. It is home to things that form a connection between my Nana and I.
Ripples on paper.
A special love language between a granddaughter and a lady of faith and hope. It's quite lovely. There's no time frame. We write when our hearts lead us to. The conversation is simple and pure. But, it makes my heart so happy and full of love.
When I write to her, I try to share with her things that are happening that moment. Feelings, lessons, things the girls are doing, recipes tried and failed and bigger are the success. She bakes so I like to make her proud. If only I could seal up the fresh smell of my homemade cinnamon rolls in the envelopes, I'd be even happier.
She writes back with cute stories of a date with my Bumpa. A hamburger from Checkers enjoyed while watching traffic drive by. Simple pleasures.
When I see the mail truck drive by, I'm never sure if there will be a letter from Dover awaiting my grasp. It's an excitement that brings a cheery disposition to my sometimes lonely world.
And yet, I'm not so sure she quite knows the depth of importance that her short stories bring to my days. It's uplifting and precious. You know that feeling when you start to hum the tune to
" I heard an old, old story...How a savior came from glory..."
How it warms your heart.
How it brings you back to focus.
Reassuring your soul.
Well, that's how I feel when I read her letters.
I hear her voice as if she's right beside me talking to me face to face.
Growing up she taught me so much about the ways of life and the how the world wants you to view things vs. how we should look at it based on the WORD. I hold all that in my heart and am currently trying to pass those lessons of love onto my daughters.
She taught me how to hear alto in church. It's because of her that I appreciate the old hymns. I treasure the harmony of quartet performances and have longed to be apart of such tradition. Maybe one day we can do a duet.
Sometimes I'll hop on the bed and spend a hour or more re-reading her letters. It makes me feel a lot closer to what I miss so much.
I simply love her.
One day, I'll be able to open this box and share it with grands of my own.