Thanks for being in my box.

Thanks for spending last Thursday night with me. You might be scratching your head and thinking I have finally fallen off my rocker (I caught you. Shame on you for thinking of me that way.) You might tell me you were watching a game on tv, that you were out at your favorite restaurant, or even that you were sitting at home on your couch. Regardless of what your schedule read, you probably would still argue that you most certainly did not spend the evening with me. As I often do, I agree to disagree. Even if you were doing something else, some of you were here with me, too. In my box.

I am by no means a hoarder. These days, I might consider myself more of a minimalist actually. However, there are still some things I can not and will not bring myself to part with. On the top shelf of my laundry room, I keep a box. In it, I store every letter, sticky note or card that has been given to me. I started this collection of sentiments during college and plan on continuing for the rest of my life.

There is a certain intentionality, thoughtfulness, warmth, and love that can only be ascertained through receiving and reading a handwritten note. Whether it is a birthday card, an encouraging note, or a verse written out on scrap paper, these words, when imparted with a pen onto paper, become timeless.

We live in a text messaging, Facebook stalking, say it when its convenient kind of world. Almost all communication is done through technology. Bookstores are closing, and the written news is making its way to a virtual context. The United States Postal System has begun to cut it's workforce, and it seems the time of the handwritten note has passed. If we want to communicate with someone, we pick up our cell phone, which is most likely already in our hand, and type out a quick text message without even having to stop what we were already doing.

Don't get me wrong. I love your text messages. I love the convenience just as much as you do and would be more than frustrated if I had to wait a week for the postal system to get you my message asking you how your day is going. I would ask you on Monday, you wouldn't receive it until Friday at the earliest, and then you would probably be confused as to which day I was asking about. Let's avoid the confusion and keep the modern communication going.

I know this isn't 1940. Postage stamps aren't always readily at hand, and the world is quickly technologically advancing whether I like it or not (seems as though Apple doesn't call me to ask me my opinion on such matters...their loss).  Forgoing modern communication methods won't do us any favors. Your boss and your best friend will probably be angry with you if you stop answering their text messages and emails. We can't have that. I know those are two integral people in my every day life.

However, just because we participate in and embrace the new, does that mean we have to abolish the old?

Back to last Thursday night. I had a night free at home for the first time in weeks and a couple of hours until a friend was stopping by. I pulled out my box from the top shelf of my laundry room and began to sift through. My box is overflowing and won't stay shut without a large rubber band. It will soon need a companion to help hold its contents. As I flipped through pieces of paper, envelopes, sticky notes, and postage stamps, warmth filled my heart, the kind of warmth a latte gives you on a crisp Fall day.

In my box I found letters sent from foreign countries you sent me while you were abroad. I found notes you wrote me during class in college. I even found the cloth hankie you let me have when I was crying in my dorm room my freshman year of college. In my box, I found memories we made, laughs we shared, landmarks we celebrated, and burdens you helped me bear. On Thursday night, in a pile of paper with curves of ink, I found our friendship and the love that will always be between us. And I found it because you cared. You took the time to stop what you were doing. You were intentional. When you wrote me that note, you might not have known what you were doing. You gave me a gift that I will treasure for the rest of my life. Those words you wrote on my birthday in 2007 not only blessed and encouraged me then, but also in September 2013. The thank you note you wrote me in 2009 reminded me to pray for you in 2011. Your words are timeless and, in that, so are you.

In a note I found that one of my journalism professors gave me upon graduating from college, he wrote this: "I suppose I now begin a close relationship with nostalgia, one of the perks of growing older."

I hope I always have a close relationship with nostalgia. Though it is important to live in the present and for the moment, it is important to remember where we have come from and the moments and words that have made us who we are today. Thank you for filling my box, my heart, and my life. Thank you for your time and your encouragement. Thank you for your love. Thank you for your words. They have made me who I am and continue to fill my heart today.

Thanks again for a perfect Thursday evening. Each of you filled my living room and my heart to the brim. You have touched my soul and my being. Whether you live near or far, know I hold you in my heart and always will. I hope someone can touch your life in the same way you have touched mine. Thanks for being in my box.