The faded, yellow, tattered-edges pages filled with handwriting: some large scrolling letters, others small hard-to-read script were voices from the past. As I read, the handwriting seemed to match the writers' voices in my mind, so that I could almost hear the words spoken from the page. Reading letter after letter, checking the postmark dates, I could piece together what was happening in the family history... I read happy letters from Cora with the little scribbles from "Dabber and Tat" and then those same postmarks from GA were no longer in Aunt Cora's writing, but return address said "Virgil and Grace" and I learned during a very dark time for the family that Virg and Grace stayed with Cora to help see her through following Little Joe's tragic death. There were updates on Cora's condition as well as what was happening in the court system with "the old man" that pulled the trigger that fateful day.
There were letters from Agnes about her brothers Wallace and Georgie (yes, a grown man that everyone still called "Georgie"---still doesn't seem possible that he's gone from us now so recently). A very newsy letter from Agnes's mother, that made me laugh because it was just SO Luella! Details about townsfolk and many requests to "write back when you can" and "answer this letter soon."
There were letters from Aunt Vi, written in a much-younger version of her familiar script.
Many "voices" speaking I recognized, however one particular writer remained silent to me. I had never seen this penmanship before, as I have never heard her voice.
"My dear son," many of the letters began. They were addressed to my father and his family, "Dear son, daughter and grandsons, " Since my grandmother died before I was born, it was simply fascinating to hear about life from her perspective! She would tell about the weather, and say how proud she was of my brothers. She would talk about her own children scattered around the country; Zovadia in Detroit, others in Chicago and Mitchell's family in Florida. She would mention her husband's declining health ("Dady" this and "Dady" that) and share news from the hometown happenings.
I loved seeing the letters from her addressed to my brothers. "Ma-ma loves you." One in particular sent to Larry on his birthday said to "share the 1.00 $ from Ma-ma and Pa-pa with your brother Barry if you want to." The handwriting in those letters from her grew weaker and more frail, and the corresponding letters from dad's sisters would talk about their mother's treatments (cancer) and failing health, during that time.
Then only letters from the sisters and the postmarks dated after Ma-ma's death. The pen was stilled, but her voice still speaks through her written words.
And the piercing line in the letter from the sister (as family members dispersed across the map) left to live out her own life in their hometown, written just weeks after Ma-ma's funeral when life had resumed, yet grief still so real: "It seems as though everyone has forgotten."
I learned much about my family through reading that stack of papers that could have easily been mistaken for trash. I learned that they had good times together, loved each other fiercely. I learned, too, that times were hard in a lot of ways. There was some division, heartache, financial strains. There were words of gratitude for money orders sent across the miles, talk of "still feeling the bite of unemployment", questions of family bread-winners getting called back to their places of work. It helped me understand why the sisters still put out gardens and canned their yields well into years that others would consider "elderly." And it helped me see roots running deep in those Tennessee hills and family bonds that can never be severed; not by miles, hideous monster illnesses or even death.
That's why my heart aches sometimes, like it did last week, not to be able to visit a beloved cousin's sick bed in the hospital or partake in a very special 80th birthday celebration and why this devotional spoke right to my aching heart. God knew I needed reminded of what's to come and how important it is, while there's still time, to be sure that every possible family member will be able to join in that "Forever Hello"...... I CAN'T WAIT!!!!
A Forever Hello
After a week’s vacation with her daughter and 4-month-old grandson, Oliver, Kathy had to say goodbye until she could see them again. She wrote to me saying, “Sweet reunions like we had make my heart long for heaven. There, we won’t have to try to capture memories in our mind. There, we won’t have to pray for the time to go slowly and the days to last long. There, our hello will never turn into goodbye. Heaven will be a ‘forever hello,’ and I can’t wait.” As a first-time grandma, she wants to be with her grandson Oliver as much as possible! She’s thankful for any time she can be with him and for the hope of heaven—where the wonderful moments will never end.
Our good days do seem too short, and our difficult days far too long. But both kinds of days cause us to long for even better days ahead. The apostle Paul said that he and the Corinthians longed to be “clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life” (2 Cor. 5:4 niv). Although the Lord is with us in this life, we cannot see Him face to face. Now we live by faith, not by sight (v.7).
God made us for the very purpose of being near to Him always (v.5). Heaven will be a forever hello.
Face to face—O blissful moment!
Face to face—to see and know;
Face to face with my Redeemer,
Jesus Christ who loves me so! —Breck
Face to face—to see and know;
Face to face with my Redeemer,
Jesus Christ who loves me so! —Breck
Now we see Jesus in the Bible, but then, face to face.
