Two weeks after MYI, I was cleaning out my writing desk; this special spot in my home had been created and set apart for romantic meanderings of my mind, And it had fallen into a disgraceful state of disrepair. There was garbage and coupons and old pictures as well as toys and empty pens covering my little corner of the house.
I began to separate things into piles. Garbage. Pictures. Toys. Things to File. Letters to save. Wait…What?
That’s right, I had received some letters. Moreover, that specific pile started to grow. I found more in the drawer; some were sticking out of my favorite books in the bookcase nearby. I read them over. They were incredibly heartfelt and specific responses to my basic existence - not necessarily something I had said or done for another, but just how someone had seen me one day and thought, “She’s great. I should tell her.”
I literally sprinted down my stairs (dangerous on my injured foot) to check the cedar chest. I opened it and piled inside on top of the “past” were MANY letters and cards I had received in this last year alone.
That was my mess. A mess because I had just tied them with a bow and hid them in my cedar chest. Then cried that I never got any in the first place.
But now I know that “for things to get better, I must get better.
For things to change, I must change.” - 3KE
I took a purple binder, I added sheet protectors. Then I set about filling those sheet protectors with the love-filled notes, letters and cards. Now I can - and do - pull them out any time I want and be reminded:
I am loved.
I am remembered.
I know it because now I have evidence, exhibit A which outlines how I matter to a member of my church. Exhibit B which recalls a time a kind word from me was an answer to prayer (implying that I followed inspiration). I have exhibits all the way to Q that lauds my smile. I will have to start the alphabet over soon! The evidence is piling up.