Now, when I go to the mailbox, my cards don't contain money. It asks for my money. I get mail every day--mostly junk, bills, more bills, and well.. more bills. It's a broke life for the Smallings. I dread getting the mail because I have to drive to my mailbox, get out of my car, take my key, unlock the box, get my mail, and then open. It makes me tired and I avoid it at all costs.
A couple of days ago I went to the mailbox and began the routine of shuffling through the contents--bills, junk, and then there was a card. With my address written in child-like scribble and when I opened it, I realized it was a handmade card from one of my kids at church. For your viewing pleasure I have included the inside:
Thank you for letting me have a part in the play. I was worried that I wouldn't get a part. I like that you teach us now. Thank you for being my friend.
The best part was the drawn picture that was included--a little girl holding the hand of a big girl walking down the street with balloons on all sides. This card now resides in a prized place on our kitchen bar. I think I'll keep this forever.