BECAUSE I CAN

If you ask me why I write this Journal week after week, I will tell you it’s because I can.

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“Dear Folks—” his words begin. I gingerly unfold the torn and discolored fragment of the letter written in my daddy’s hand. In the upper right-hand corner, his unrefined cursive marks the solemn date in a nation’s history, September 2, 1945.

That his WWII letters are in my possession is not a little providence. I am my father’s daughter, compelled to sit with the musings of my heart until the right words come.

This week, in particular, my thoughts return to what it must have been like for him to pour his heart out on paper, knowing the waiting for the news to arrive to his family would be impossibly long.

From aircraft carrier to “home”, the journey of a young sailor’s stories tucked into government-issued envelopes typically spanned 18-20 days, sometimes months on end.

What grabs my attention is [surprisingly] not the glimpse into the disposition of a young soldier’s aching spirit but the revelation of the expanse of time wedged between what was written and when it is was finally read.

By the time I write and you receive this Journal entry, only 24 hours will have passed. The relevance of these love letters is not only contained in its words, but in the revelation that you are reading them exactly and precisely as I feel them—

There is power in sharing in this moment,

Power in exchanging ideas and emotions in our mutual now.

During a conversation with my publishing consultant this week he asked, “What do you hope to accomplish with your book.” Without hesitation I answered, “I think I’m already doing it now.” Such a surprise to spontaneously unearth this intention, to come to terms with what genuinely inspires every word—

That is, our hearts and minds singularly focused,

In a specific moment in time and space.

Shared experience. Moments intertwined.

The extraordinary joy and transformation that overflows from life intersecting. Yours with mine.  

It is likely it will take nearly two years for my book to hit the shelves from the time it reaches the publisher. What then of the value of being in the moment? What of relevance and the art of mutual exchange?

So much can happen in the span of two years—this coming from a woman who thought three years ago that she might not be here today.

What of the nineteen-year-old sailor with the generous smile?

He writes of being lonely and maybe even a little afraid. In the sliver of moonlight, in the gentle rocking of a giant metal ship, he pours his heart out to seemingly no one. And then he waits. And waits. And waits.

But his daughter is bathed in the constancy of  real-time comments: Your words as much the story as what I write.

We know that his letters landed safely to their destination—first an address…then the heart of those who craved the news that he was safe, alive.

We [you and I] have this inexpressible luxury of sharing and responding within seconds of what is said.

Shall we then be more mindful of our delivery,

Do we have it within us to be less one-sided and self-obsessed?

Can we look with awe at an existence that enables us to simultaneously listen and speak?

Perhaps what I have to say isn’t as earth-shattering or dramatic as the tale of a treaty being written while a carrier anchors in Tokyo Bay.  

 But I offer what I have—

The musings of a heart wide open,

The eagerness to come close to what you’re going through,

To marvel in our shared discovery,

That we are interconnected in all we do.

 And perhaps that is enough. 

NOTES:

The afternoon I was pouring through my daddy’s letters I received an alert on my phone—

MyChart Lab Results Ready

I always feel a little twinge in my gut when I receive these emails, today more than the last few because it’s been so long.

Typically, my lab tech and I work together every four weeks to fill the necessary eight tubes. But I’ve been battling shingles and then a nasty bug over the last nine weeks…and the labs will measure the accompanying inflammation throughout the body and skew the results.

I’m sharing all of this to let you know how much it means that you’re right here with me through every hard thing. And that’s the point of this Journal entry entirely.

What were the results? Our God continues to take my breath away. He…and my body…are honoring my metabolic approach and my aggressive integrative treatment plan.

How wonderful that we have this platform to share up-to-the-minute news with one another—

Tell me in the comments what’s happening in your life!

P.S. The image is of my adorable daddy [and muse], Jim Knox, when he was just nineteen. If you ever want to read his letters, written to his “folks” throughout WWII let me know.