Snail Mail = Hell Mail

So, it’s been awhile! It’s been awhile! (One of my favorite YouTubers, Olan Rogers, sometimes starts his story videos with that line, so I had to use it!)

The Lord has been working on me these past couple of weeks.. teaching me more about love & forgiveness.

I wanted to share with you an experience I had this past week.

It was a Thursday like any other Thursday… work from 8 to 5. Go home. Have breakfast for supper. Spend time with a friend. Sounds pretty normal. It was, besides the fact that my aunt & I burnt the toast and the 50 year old waffle iron decided to malfunction & we ended up having pancakes instead… It was a Thursday like any other, until my sister walked in with the mail. There was a piece for me. I immediately recognized the handwriting & was shocked… the ink before me flowed from a pen held by my mother’s hand. I didn’t open it until Saturday morning, while alone, sitting on my bed. The waiting time was filled with weighing the possibilities of what was in the envelope, what emotions I might experience, etc. I was anticipating a letter… a letter saying she was getting help or a letter guilt-tripping me about my little sister. I assumed it would be the latter.

I slid my finger underneath the envelope’s flap & began tearing my way to the other end… opening Pandora’s box. I truly had no idea what the envelope contained.

I wasted no time taking out the contents. I opened the paper. I had seen this before… it was a letter concerning the 401k account I had with a previous employer that I had received earlier in the week.

Not. A. Letter.

Relief flowed through my bones like a river running down a mountain, ever-moving, refreshingly chilly.

Annoyance crept in.


All of the stress of processing intellectually, preparing emotionally for neither of the options I was anticipating… I hadn’t expected this. It took a few hours, but I felt it.

Later, I found myself in the drivers seat of my car, fingers intertwined with the calloused fingers of the man whose heart loves mine so well. Hot tears flowed over my rosy cheeks, as the once refreshing mountain river of relief was boiling hot & escaping its natural bounds of size & movement. His fingers gripped mine tighter, wordlessly saying, “I’m here & I’m not leaving.”

We were supposed to be having a good time, yet there we sat, in my boyfriend’s apartment parking lot, me with a Rudolf-red nose, feelings spilling messily all over the place. He wanted to celebrate the 2 year anniversary of our first date by going to dinner together and seeing a movie. We had dinner, but I couldn’t shake off the blanket of sadness wrapped around my shoulders, so we didn’t make it to the movie. We were supposed to be sitting in comfy, fancy recliners at the movie theater.

He let me cry. He handed my tissues. He listened. He held my hand.

What I wanted to do was burn the piece of mail without having ever opened it. I didn’t.

I chose the high road. I chose what was fair. I gave my mother the chance to tell me that she was seeking help for herself… I went against protecting myself. I made myself vulnerable.

What was I handed? Rejection. I certainly already have that from her, but this just added some extra icing to that cake.

What did the Lord hand me? The opportunity to choose love, even when I didn’t want to… when I could have said that protecting my heart was more important to me…

While I had to feel everything I described above, which was physically draining, I know that receiving that piece of mail only serves one purpose… to push me closer to the Lord, the One who is restoring every shattered piece of me.