Writing By Hand

The basket sits on the floor in my bedroom.  Every time I have received a note of encouragement or appreciation or a letter from a friend or family member, anything that has meaning, I throw it in the basket to read again someday. But the basket is now overflowing so “someday” came Sunday. Some of the letters were from friends who have long since left earth and moved to heaven. Some were from people I have never met. Some were from friends I have lost contact with and others from friends still near and dear. They were all treasures. All were hand written and I could identify many of them as soon as I picked them up because of the unique cursive.

I have to admit, I am not the crying sort. But last Sunday afternoon, every note took me back into the presence of the author. Even those written by strangers had such powerful significance. A stranger sending encouragement is an exceptional treasure as they don’t have to write out of any obligation. They just do it out of a loving and sometimes grateful heart. I couldn’t help the tears that often cascaded down my cheeks.

 I began to realize this type of communication will soon be obsolete.  And there will not be many hand- written notes with distinctive cursive to cheer the heart and warm the spirit and remind us that we are loved and appreciated. The word “delete” will take care of that. And with it will go a lot more than just words of encouragement.  In some respects, history will be lost.  These notes often recalled to my mind events that had taken place that I had long forgotten. A lengthy letter from my grandfather, who passed away over thirty years ago, expressed his love for his family and added a number of stories from his life. It drew me into the chord that binds us all together with those family members who had gone on before us and loved us even when were too young and self absorbed to be able to recognize it.

I am now about one eighth of the way through the basket of cards and letters. This effort has done two things. First it has encouraged me to pick that pen back up, pull the note cards or stationary out of the desk and WRITE a note, a letter, in my hand writing to those I need to thank, to those I love and adore, to those who need encouragement. And when I write each alphabetical letter, now not nearly as refined and correct as in earlier years, I will pray that the person receiving it will save it for another decade when she or he will bring it out and be reminded that they were dearly loved and cared for and appreciated by one Pat Harley.

Secondly, it reminded me that one more generation and handwriting will be obsolete. Few children know how to write well and legibly. My grandson Colter spent last summer teaching himself how to write cursive because it is not taught in his school now that computers have become the only way to communicate.  It is a loss. And with it the easy “delete” to make room on the computer for more important things will mean that little will be saved and a part of history will be lost.

A young neighbor asked for a recipe recently and added, “Pat would you please write it out in your own handwriting? It will make the recipe more special.” I think I know what she means. Our handwriting is a part of us, each one so different, and that is what makes handwriting a treasure. No one will write the way you do. Each is unique. The hundreds of cards and letters in my white basket say there are some things worth saving…perhaps it is the hand written note.