The Art Of Penmanship

I gave a gift to a young man that will be entering middle school in the fall.
He is leaving the fifth grade and embarking on the next phase of his journey.
He opened the note card I gave to him before he opened the gift.
It was written in my own hand and it was written in cursive writing.

After trying to read the card, he asked me to read it to him.
Perhaps the style of my handwriting made if difficult for him to read.
Perhaps he just wanted me to read the thoughts that I wrote especially for him.
We sat and read the card together.

There is something about writing your heart on a piece of paper, knowing it will be read.
There is something about the uniqueness of each note, of each letter.
As you consider the recipient, you write the words accordingly.
This young man seemed to appreciate what I had written to him.

I don’t know if he will tuck the note away and read it again.
I am not sure if one day he will find it and remember the day we sat together.
But there it is, my heart poured out, in my own hand.
That is the treasure of letter writing that a keyboard cannot duplicate.

I remember the day I pulled a poetry book from one of my bookshelves.
I was trying to find a particular poem and noticed something in one of the pages.
I immediately recognized the handwriting.
It was a note from my aunt who had given me the old volume of poetry.

As soon as I saw that delicate cursive handwriting, I knew.
The oldest of my mother’s sisters, she died when I was newly married.
Yet over thirty years later her handwriting is still recognizable to me.
Over thirty years later and I am transported back to birthday cards and thank you notes.

That handwriting belonged to her alone.
Much like a fingerprint, our handwriting says so much about us.
If a typewritten letter were found inside my poetry book, the writer would be a mystery.
There is uniformity to what is typed; there is uniqueness to what is handwritten.

My husband has a shelf in his office that is dedicated to his father.
The shelf has his father’s World War II medals in a beautiful case.
There is a picture of his father as a young man in his army uniform.
Next to all of that is his father’s slide rule.

The slide rule was always my albatross.
The slide rule was the way we multiplied, divided, and figured out square roots.
A really serious math student could also do logarithms and trigonometry.
The slide rule was a mechanical analog computer long before the days of calculators.

That slide rule is important to my husband since his father was also an engineer.
I look at the slide rule and cringe, thinking of how hard it was for me to master.
My husband looks at the slide rule and remembers, fondly.
My husband’s father kept the manual, which is placed next to the slide rule.

It is the manual that is poignant to me.
On the front cover is his father’s signature.
Your name was always expected to be in the right top corner of everything.
Dutifully, his name is there, in the handwriting that I remember.

Handwriting brings you back to another time and place quicker than anything else.
Years later, when given a sample of writing, you are still able to discern the identity.
The personality and the uniqueness of the person shine through.
Forensically, handwriting analysis is very accurate.

Ask any mother and she will tell you.
Mothers save artwork and notes that her children have given her through the years.
She is able to correctly identify the handwriting of each of her children.
She is able to see their growth as evidenced in their writing.

Ask anyone who has lost a parent.
When a card or letter is found and their handwriting is seen, the tears will come.
Their handwriting is a piece of them like no other.
A bit of their personality comes through every stroke of the pen.

That does not happen with typing, or emails, or texting.
Though expedient, these forms of communication are highly impersonal.
There is efficiency but there is no heart.
The heart is hidden behind QWERTY; it is masked when the writing becomes uniform.

The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing Him. But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with His finger. When they kept on questioning Him, He straightened up and said to them, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again He stooped down and wrote on the ground. At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” “No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave you life of sin.” (John 8:3-11)

I wonder what Jesus’ handwriting looked like?
I wonder if His divinity shone through each purposeful stroke?
I wonder if His humanity was evident in the way His fingers etched each letter?
I wonder.

Jesus had a unique handwriting just like each of us.
Did you ever think what your name looks like engraved on the palm of Jesus’ hand?
The letters of your name look similar to the letters He wrote on the ground.
They are written by the same Hand.

The Hand with the nail marks.
The Hand with the scars.
The Hand that reached out for Peter when the waves got to be too much.
The Hand that touched and healed so many.

Was Jesus left handed or right handed?
Jesus’ handwriting must have been legible if the woman’s accusers were able to read it.
What did Jesus write?
Could the accusers have been in awe as Jesus wrote each of their names on the ground?

Jesus’ had a unique handwriting just like each of us.
So much about us comes through our handwriting.
Our handwriting still speaks years after we are gone.
In our handwriting, we leave a bit of ourselves behind.

Our handwriting is a gift for those that come after.
A treasure in the hand of the recipient.
Much like our fingerprints, our writing is unique.
God knitted us together; He should know.

 

2 responses to “The Art Of Penmanship”

1. I am sorry for the way education is deleting cursive writing. In doing so, they are also deleting part of the brain’s creativity, which is enhanced by handwriting. Why can’t we use both? Like you say, it is a much more personal way to communicate. When I do genealogy I get to see the handwriting from long ago and feel more connected to the people I’m reading about. I love to read my Mom and Dad’s handwritten letters, too.

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   • Sue, I only write in cursive handwriting. I really dislike printing. I have to type, but writing in my own hand is preferred for a personal note. The handwriting of a love one is always recognizable and so very special to our hearts.
     Gina

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