Old Tattered Letters In A Shoebox

Old Tattered Letters In A Shoebox
The View From Granny’s Back Porch
Written by Joy Mathis Chadwick

I love winter, I truly do, but I’m torn between how much I love winter and how much I love sitting on our back porch – it’s either one or the other; it’s much too cold for both. So for the next few weeks, this granny’s view will be limited to what can be seen through the windows that overlook the pastureland surrounding our little piece of Heaven here in the hills.

I always try to get all the Christmas things put away as soon after Christmas as possible, even on the very day if everyone else is napping and can’t shame me into leaving the tree up for just a little while longer. But this year Leo The Giant Puppy has made a disaster of the little tree, and I can’t get it down and put away soon enough to suit me. But it never fails, just when I think I’ve gotten every single thing packed and put away, I find one ornament or one card that I overlooked.

People just don’t send as many Christmas cards as we used to. I can remember a time that there would be days that we would actually get more cards in our mailbox than bills – and that’s quite a celebration! But this year I especially enjoyed savoring each of the few cards we actually received, and I deliberately left them out as a reminder of our dear friends and family who reached out with wishes for merriness and happiness. I actually keep most of the cards and letters I’ve received over the years; it’s just a way to feel reconnected to those who may no longer be in my life. My favorite collection is a special box of letters that my precious momma started writing to me when I moved away from home; this is now priceless to me as it makes me feel like I’ve had a visit with her each time I re-read one of her letters. Let me explain why her letters were so special.

It was the early 70’s; mini skirts, disco, the end of the VietNam war, and my first apartment with my very own address. It was still decades away from social media; long distance phone calls were a luxury that eluded a poor single girl. Moving 30 miles from my hometown – and my family – might as well have been 30,000 miles as far as my heart was concerned. I was homesick and couldn’t afford a long distance call, much less a tank of gas. My lifeline became the twice-weekly letters from my momma.

My momma had a lot to say during the years to come. Her letters always seemed to touch just the right place in my heart. Sometimes the letters came when I needed a good laugh; sometimes they offered comfort to my troubled soul. And there was advice – lots and lots of advice, but never in an intruding way, ‘cause that’s just the way my momma was. She has long gone on to Heaven, but her letters live on. They still bring me smiles and comfort, and I believe her advice to me now would be to keep on writing these stories, these words of my own. So even though I may take a few liberties every now and then outside the constraints of time and space, and even though I may embellish just a little for the sake of some good words, the underlying message remains the same – reach out with my heart, ‘cause that’s just the way my momma would have done it.

Many have asked me why I write, or where do I get my ideas, or how did I get to this writing point in my life. And that answer is simple: I write because the Lord has placed this desire in my heart, and I believe that very reason is best summed up in His own words: “This shall be written for the generation to come: and the people which shall be created shall praise the LORD.” (Psalm 102:18) One of these days when I’ve made Heaven my new home and am looking out my back porch that overlooks the River of Life, I want to be assured that my grandchildren and their grandchildren will have a little piece of me left with them through my words. I want them to know what it was like when I was growing up. I want them to know how very much they were loved. But more importantly, most importantly, I want them to get a glimpse of Jesus in every word that I have written.

I think we each have our own way of telling others about what the Lord has done for us; it doesn’t necessarily have to be written down. But who is going to tell our children and grandchildren if we don’t? My own precious momma wrote countless letters to me and she would end every single letter with a loving nudge to keep on serving the Lord, to keep on loving the Lord, to keep on trusting the Lord. And that’s the reason I write.

“I will open my mouth in parables, I will utter hidden things, things from of old–what we have heard and known, what our fathers have told us. We will not hide them from their children; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD, his power, and the wonders he has done.” Psalm 78:2-4 NIV