I pictured this from the first moment I placed Betty Rose beside me to sleep. As her Mama, I want my words to help see a path for intention in her world’s journey. I want to have an influence on her, as much as I want to keep a bookmark in her thoughts. In the trials of school from last year’s friendship hardships, I saw the place she went to when her words wouldn’t come out easily. I knew her mind still raced with teary cheeks buried in a pillow. On other days, I heard her rushed excitement in a story told a mile a minute and I felt the break when a sister interrupted, or a knock came to the door. More often, she’s sitting on her bed reading, awake at night happily turning pages as writing and reading have become her skill, her craft.
Of course I picture a journal arriving in a manilla envelop from some exotic place life takes her years down the road. I picture a stack of journals on a bookcase that Luke built. I can also picture the torment of teenage time, the doors slamming and silence turned up.
It was at this point in my own life that my Dad began writing me letters, poems. It was a way for us to still speak when times were rocky. For high school graduation, he built me a wooden box with a lock. It’s under my bed, filled with our letters. I wanted to take this history a step further, and write from a place of innocence.
In my very first letter, I described the snow that fell when she was born on another island. I asked questions about her eighth birthday Daddy ski date and wondered just what it is she loves most about skiing. I said it was hard spending the day apart, but easy when knowing her heart was full. I told her I loved her, and to slip the journal under my pillow whenever she finishes the reply letter. I told her spelling doesn’t matter, and drawings are welcomed. I told her I was excited for this, and I couldn’t wait for the pages to come.
Although I won’t ever share any of our letters in this space, I will let you know what becomes of the journal and our line of connection throughout the pages. Time is already racing past. Maybe this process will slow things down a bit, allow us to really connect in a way all our own. This moment feels like just yesterday. Sigh.
Today I’m joining Just Write, a great way to start the day.
And I’m about to announce the giveaway winner Here.