You’ve Got Mail

There it was…mounted on the brick wall.
You could easily reach it when you opened the front door.
You lifted the lid and put your hand inside.

The mailbox.
I am so used to seeing the mailbox at the end of the driveway.
I forget that growing up, my mailbox was right next to my front door.

Mr. M was our mailman.
He was a small man in stature, but incredibly strong.
The mailbag that he carried on his shoulder seemed bigger than him.

I never knew how he managed to keep the mail straight as he went from door to door.
We never received the wrong mail.
I assumed his mailbag must have been like Marry Poppins’ carpetbag.
I assumed there were endless pockets that somehow magically sorted the envelopes.

No special bag…but a special, dedicated mailman.
He always whistled as he walked from house to house.
You could hear his tune before you saw him.

He was so efficient…like a pianist who never had to look at the piano keys.
He had a system…he reached into his mailbag and pulled out the correct mail.
When Mr. M was on vacation, we always got the wrong mail.
No substitute could ever take Mr. M’s place.

It was a treat to be able to wait for the mail.
I could hear Mr. M and knew that he was only one door away.
I would stand at the door, he would smile, and hand me all of our mail.

You saved me a trip, he would say.
I really thought I did him a favor.
In actuality, I only saved him about five steps.
Yet, he always made me feel so important.
My assistant, he would say.

When it was a very hot day, Mr. M had a towel that he used to wipe his face.
Take him some lemonade, my mother would say.
I would wait at the door and we would make our exchanges.
I gave him the lemonade…he gave me the mail.

Those were the days of actual glass…not disposable cups.
Mr. M would finish the lemonade quickly.
He carefully put the glass down on the bench that was next to the door.
Delicious!

When my mother died, many cards came in the mail each day.
Mr. M would take the time to stop, gently knock on the door, and see how I was doing.
I didn’t wait for the mail on those days.
That was mail I didn’t want to receive.

There was something sweet about getting mail and sending mail.
Snail mail, as it is now called, allowed you to scent the envelope for someone special.
It allowed you to kiss the envelope with your favorite lipstick if you were so inclined!
I often wondered what the people at the post office thought when they saw that!

You had to be very intentional when you sent mail.
You had to take the time to write the card or letter.
You addressed the envelope, sealed it, put a stamp on it, mailed it at the corner mailbox.

As a little girl, my mother was a big thank you note sender.
Which means, she expected that same courteousness in me.
When I first learned to write cursive, she had special note paper made for me.
My name and address was imprinted on the top.

It was heavy paper with decorative edges.
It had no lines.
I can still remember her taking the time to make a lined template to go under my paper.
I was able to write the note myself and keep my new, much too large cursive, readable.

It was something I disliked doing at the time.
I am so glad she instilled that in me!
I have taught my children the same thing.

Someone took the time to buy you the gift, you must take the time to thank them.
There was no delaying thanks in her book.
I learned the importance of immediacy.
I’m glad.

Today, in the electronic age, regular mail usage is declining.
Saving time and going green has changed the way we operate.
That is both good and bad.

We can effortlessly reach the other side of the world in seconds.
We can send something to multiple recipients with one click.
But we have lost the personal touch.
I miss it!

The New Testament is filled with letters written to the churches.
Those letters, upon delivery, were read to the church that often met in homes.
Paul, under house arrest, wrote many of the letters, as he sat chained between soldiers.

After this letter has been read to you, see that it is also read in the church of the Laodiceans and that you in turn read the letter from Laodicea…I, Paul write this greeting in my own hand. Remember my chains. Grace be with you. (Colossians 4:16,18)

Most of the books in the New Testament begin or end this way.
Imagine if Paul, or Peter, or John used email.
One click and all of the churches would have the letter instantaneously.

The personal touch of receiving the parchment, untying it, opening it, reading it to the people as you looked them in the eye would be lost.
I can imagine the feel and the smell of the parchment.

When Paul wrote his second letter to Timothy, winter was coming.

Do your best to come to me quickly…When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, and my scrolls, especially the parchments…Do your best to get here before winter.
(2 Timothy 4:9,13,21)

Mr. M would have made sure of that!
He knew the importance of a letter!