My mail-lady handed me a stack of mail and said, “Looks like mostly bills.”
Then, she lit a smoke and we talked about a whole lot of nothing. Namely: the weather. Though we do have some things in common. For example, we both have too many bills.
Good talk.
When she left, I opened my stack of mail. She was right. Bills. Coupons, real-estate flyers, a Bass Pro catalog, and a gift certificate for a free chiropractic consult in a bad part of town.
And one thick envelope from Georgia. A three-page letter.
The author of the letter is ninety. She has stunning penmanship. Her name is Louise. I've never actually known a woman by this name. But I wish it would make a comeback.
“I am not good on your Facebook,” Louise begins. “I still write letters...”
I wish more people would.
She’s from the old world. Her husband was a blue-collar. A grease-covered face who smiled at her just right when she was eighteen.
He was rowdy, but he settled down the moment he slipped a ring
on her finger. Rings do that sometimes.
“A minister came through our church," she said. "I brought Joey to listen to a quite captivating speaker...
“And though my husband was less than impressed with Methodism as a whole, the minister made it through to him..."
The holy-roller did more than make it through. He talked about one thing in particular that evening: anonymous acts of charity. And for some reason—call it good timing—her husband took the idea seriously.
At lunch after church, he wrote a Bible verse on the back of a business card—one which he carried in his wallet for many years. It was the only Bible reading she ever saw him do.
The verse:
“...A man who has two coats is to share with him who has none; and he who has food is to do likewise."
That same…