Par Avion

Well over 20 years ago I found myself serving a mission in Belgium and France. Scrawling the words Par Avion on my letters home.

Now I find myself writing that on my almost-weekly missives to my oldest child. Who finds himself serving a mission just across the pond in the U.K.

I am thankful for a SIL who reminded me--long before my own child left--that despite the wonders of instant and regular e-mail to and fro, missionaries still need something tangible. Something to feel in their hands, hold to their hearts, and tear open with anticipation.

And I remember.

There is the weight and value beyond any treasure in the feel of an envelope addressed by hand specifically to you and carrying with it all the love, support and memories of home and family long ago and far away.






Although I could just drop my letters to Luke in the mailbox posted just past the sidewalk out my front door, I don't.

I get in the car and drive them across town to the East Bay Post Office. And while I drive I pour all the love, thought, energy and prayers I can into the simple, unkempt handwriting scrawled across the pages of my letters to him.

Most of the news is either old or redundant by the time it reaches him. But I also occasionally toss in some memento of our lives here--the program from the Mr. PHS contest--with a play-by-play of the hysterically funny talent portion. A program from L~'s final choir concert at Dixon. The seminary graduation program with his brother's name listed under the section of graduates from our ward.

Small and simple things that I hope will remind him he is still a part of our lives even while so far away.

I miss him. I won't tell him that--as if somehow not telling him will help him miss us less (it won't)--but it's true. I pour a little of that missing into the letters as well. Along with a piece of my heart that still has a hole in it where his daily presence in my life used to be.

I don't know if he gets it. He is busy and is focused on his mission. As he should be.

But if nothing else I hope he feels the love. I hope it wraps itself around him and envelops him in a great big hug from home. I'd like to believe it is part of what seals us to him and him to us for eternity.

LOTS of love and BIG hugs--

Love,

Mum

Once school is out (in less than a week), I'll be able to reclaim my mornings. I'm an early riser in a family of not-so-early risers. Come Saturday my two-and-a-half hour shift of getting everyone out the door will be done and I will be able to get up early and have at least a couple of quiet hours to myself. I can't wait!

Speaking of time to myself, at the moment I am sprawled across the chaise lounge with both sides of the living room window open so I can hear the rain fall. Aside from the voices of people I love, there is no sound I love more.

The rain makes me especially happy because I planted my garden yesterday. No seeds yet--I'm still hoping my Z~ will get around to building the grow boxes we've been intending to put in over the past eight years and I'll plant seeds then. But I've got broccoli, cauliflower, a couple of varieties of tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, yellow straight-neck squash, watermelon (I grew from seed) and cantaloupe in the area where I someday hope to plant some fruit trees. A good dose of rain just after planting feels like a benediction of sorts.

And speaking of benedictions, yesterday it could only have been divine intervention that saved the lot of the eight young hens I've cared for with love and dedication over the past five weeks. I've been moving them outside to the pigeon coop every day because they are grown up and a bit overcrowded in their dryer box and my dining room needs a bit of a daily break from the dust they create. Lately they've crowded the door of the pigeon coop trying to get outside, so I decided to let them roam the yard for a bit--since I was out there anyway.

I considered letting them all out at once--figuring I could keep them close and having heard that if you can get one or two to go back in their pens the others would follow. But something told me that might be more than I could manage, so I let them out two at a time.

That proved a blessing when the neighbor's bird dog excitedly crashed through the broken fence and made a determined and desperate effort to get them. I quickly scooped up my favorite--the Rhode Island Red and tossed her in the coop--locking it. Zack's favorite--the grey one--was panicked and not to be caught so I chased her into the ancient shed and barricaded the insufficient door, standing guard while I hollered for our kind neighbors. They retrieved their dog--feeling quite badly. But I feel badly too--knowing it must be torture for this dog born and bred to hunt birds, to be tempted by our many birds.

Still, I was quite grateful to have listened to that tiny voice. What could have been a terrifying and violent disaster was averted and my babies are safe and sound.