Last week my daughters got postcards in the mail. This isn’t too unusual; my kids often get postcards from their grandparents when they travel.
But these postcards weren’t from grandparents.
To be more precise, the postcards weren’t from my kids’ grandparents. They were from Robin, a grandmother in our church with grandkids who are similar ages as all three of my kids. Robin and her husband were on a trip across the country, and took time to write post cards to my two girls to thank them for reading in church the Sunday before. The 4 readers in my family (my son’s only 3 years old) had all participated in leading some of the liturgy that week, and she wanted to share with them in writing what she had already shared in person: that it was really powerful to her to hear their voices share the story of Moses listening to God despite his fears.
Here’s the thing that stuck. Two days later it was my 1st-grader’s turn to bring something to share in class at school. She decided to take a pink stuffed cat.
And the postcard from Robin.
When I asked her what she shared about it, she said “That it was a postcard with a picture of Nashville, and a note from my friend Robin at church.”
“My friend.” One small act from a grandma-figure who has taken time to learn my kids’ names, and who took time to write them a postcard, has potential to speak volumes into their lives.
Actually, I think it already has.