“To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere, without moving anything but your heart.”
— Phyllis Grissim-Theroux
I can still hear the rumble of the mailman’s car and the screech of its brakes as it pulls in front of our house, the scrape of the mailbox’s rusty hinges when opened, and the hollow metal twang as it slams shut. As the car pulls away, I see my younger self racing down the drive, hoping to find an envelope addressed to me, a letter from someone I love. One with the ancient acronym S.W.A.K., sealed with a kiss, penned across its flap.
We had no personal computers to connect, no cell phones to text, and no social media outlets to chat. We had no internet. The closest thing we had to instant messaging was face-to-face gatherings at the soda shop, dancing the Mashed Potato, the Monkey, the Swim, or twisting the night away at a school sock hop. We attended church socials, visited our neighbors, and talked on the telephone—on party lines, for heaven’s sake—to the dismay of neighbors who shared the same line. We even wrote letters—by hand, with pen and paper. We didn’t know how primitive our ways of communicating were. Ignorance was bliss.
It would have been unthinkable for me to pull a love letter from the box and lay it on a shelf unopened, but isn’t that what we do with God’s love letter to us when we don’t read our Bibles? Although my Bible shows signs of wear, there are days I don’t open it. Only God knows what expressions of His love I missed that day.
Last week, as I sat with my Bible in my lap, it saddened me to see it was falling apart. At that moment, God reminded me of what’s saddens Him—a Bible that sits on a shelf unopened. Yes, its exterior is pristine; its pages smell new and still stick together, but it hasn’t fulfilled its purpose—and neither will we if we fail to read it.
Looking at a section that had pulled away from the spine, my eyes fell on words highlighted in yellow from Daniel 4: I looked, and there before me stood a tree in the middle of the land. Its height was enormous. The tree grew large and strong and its top touched the sky; it was visible to the ends of the earth. Its leaves were beautiful, its fruit abundant, and on it was food for all. Under it the wild animals found shelter, and the birds lived in its branches; from it every creature was fed (Daniel 4:10-12, NIV).
Although the leaves of my Bible are tattered, they are beautiful to the Author of this Love Letter to us all. Within its pages is a place of shelter from storms, a table where people are fed, and an abundance of fruit is produced. God reminds me that although my Bible has fallen apart and needs a bit of tender loving care, it isn’t sad—not sad at all. A well-read Bible means a well-fed soul. Better my Bible falls apart than me.
Starr Ayers is a third-generation artist, an award-winning author, Jesus follower, incurable night owl, java junkie, rainbow chaser, Bible study leader, retreat speaker, and avid iPhone photographer who seeks to make the ordinary extraordinary.
She began her writing journey in 2011 and learned the craft through writing devotions. She has contributed to two published anthologies: Hopelifter: Creative Ways to Spread Hope When Life Hurts, and Reasons to Smile, Celebrating People Living with Down Syndrome. In December 2020, Mountain Brook Ink released her debut novel, For the Love of Emma. Its sequel, Emma’s Quest, releases April 5, 2022. Starr is in the process of co-authoring Room at the Table: Stories of Encouragement from Special Needs Families with Stephanie Pavlantos. Its release date is TBA.
Starr is a member of a Word Weavers International online critique group and attends several Christian writers conferences a year. She wrote a devotional page for a regional magazine for seven years and currently writes a monthly devotion for a local newspaper.
She is active in her church and has led a women’s Bible study in her community since 2003. Starr lives with her husband, Michael, in Asheboro, North Carolina, and they have two adult daughters and a son-in-love.
This time, she’ll cling tighter, pray harder, and fight longer for the man she loves.
When Caroline Myers and her sister Kate find a wilted red rose on their mother’s headstone, the door to Emma Rose Walsh’s past swings open.
AS THE DARK CLOUDS OF WAR escalate in Europe, Emma leaves her North Carolina home and the soldier whose heart has never stopped longing for hers. However, when Andrew Brown, the charming Scotsman who’d won her affection, fails to meet her train in Chicago, Emma questions her hasty decision. Hundreds of miles now separate her from all that’s familiar and the people she loves.
Has she misread Drew? Did her rush to heal her past prompt her to dismiss warning bells and ignore common sense?
Perhaps her sister is right-happy endings are only found in fairy tales.
