Mail-in Miracle

Jan 1, 2013 by

Mail-in Miracle

First, happy new year to you and yours. I almost don’t want to write this post for fear it represents some resolution that I know I simply won’t keep.  Write more. Yes, I wish I had the time to.  No, I don’t. But, I had to write it, because what happened to me, in me, on this first day of the new year, is simply too beautiful to ignore. So, on with it.

Around a year ago a good friend of mine lost her mother. She’d battled cancer, went into what seemed like a true remission, and then ultimately fell victim to the heartless disease.  My heart was broken for this friend.  She was as close to her mom as I am to mine, and was very effective in communicating how, suddenly, alone she felt in this world.  Unmarried and with no children, she expressed that her mother was the tether that kept her connected, visible, significant, sure.

Screw you, cancer. You jackass.

In response to her palpable suffering, and being so physically far away from this person I dearly love, I did the one thing I could do—the thing I do best—I wrote her a heart-felt letter. And, since I was in the letter writing mood, I wrote several other people on my heart too.  My mom. My aunts. My mom-in-love. Days later, they all called me telling me how much they’d appreciated my thoughtfulness . . . but, no call from my grieving friend.

Strange. Maybe she’s grieving too much to reach out and let me know she got the letter. I understand.

Fast forward to nearly a year later.  Marc and I have moved into a new condo and, in the flurry of unpacking, I come across my stationary box. Typically, its filled with letters or cards from loved ones that I’ve received and, because I’m feeling nostalgic, I rummage through it. Imagine my surprise when among all of the correspondence addressed to me I find the letter I’d written to my friend a year ago, tucked away and hidden in the perfumed papers.

I re-read the words I’d written, filled with my hopes for her brighter tomorrows, and I still found them appropriate so I mailed the letter the next day —a year late, but apparently, on time. Apparently. On December 17th, I put that letter in the mail and sent it on its way along with my love.

Yesterday, on December 31st, I learned that my sweet friend had been hospitalized. My heart sank.  Damn, how much can one person take?

I called her today, to check in on her, and she answered the phone, surprise in her voice.  She explained that she had just grabbed her iPad to write me a thank you note for the letter I’d sent. But, she confessed, she was curious about how I’d managed to mail a letter so quickly when she was admitted into the hospital only yesterday. Watery eyed, I explained that I’d written the letter a year ago and mailed it only recently, before she was even hospitalized.  We both sat in silence . . . or at least in muffled tears.

Timing.  They say it’s everything.

It had been my intention to mail that letter when I wrote it.  Undoubtedly, it would have been appreciated and received with every other letter of sympathy she received during that painful time of grieving her mother’s death. Instead, she got it today, on New Year’s day, when a friend delivered it to her having collected her mail while she was away. Today, as she rests hospitalized and, yeah, feeling appropriately sorry for herself.  Today, when she (and I) could use the reminder that we are seen, known, cared for by the hands of God that can feel invisible, inept, late or even callous. Today. Not a year ago. Today.

This was a lesson for me.  It was.  There was a time when I saw the magic in every day; that I saw the miracle in the mundane. I’ve since been jaded by the reality of the past few years. Life can suck. Religion can suck harder. But today, by way of snail mail, I was reminded that there is possibly an orchestration to the chaos, so often full of hatred, violence, pain, and shit. I was encouraged to believe that things just might not be so cruelly random as they seem.  And that if I follow that small voice, the one I can so easily choose to ignore, I might actually become a part of the beautiful order that tries to makes sense of it all.

Today.

It was a miracle by mail.  And, no, it doesn’t answer all the of the questions that keep me skeptical, make me mad, or harden my heart. But, in this moment and considering all of the unlikely scenarios that could have otherwise unfolded, those questions also include this one: could it be that we matter after all?

Peace and Blessings,

Nic

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2 Comments

  1. dan alexander

    ♥….love it

  2. Kim Martin

    Ms.Nicole amazing blog! Mail-in Miracle spoke to me like skull candy head phones with volume on high! Thank you for sharing your God given gift with those of us who needed a manifested word from The Lord and not a oratory example of excellence.
    Peace & Favor,
    Kim Martin

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