The mailbox was at the end of the downstairs drive way. Running up the stairs I would carry the long awaited postcard from my dad to my room, away from the peering eyes of my two younger brothers and read the words that were meant only for me.
I’m in Brazil right now and even though it’s summer there, it’s cold and rainy here.
I hope to be home in a few weeks. Help your mother and look after your brothers.
I love you, Daddy.”
I saw the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace in London and it looked just like the front of this postcard. So many people were watching too. I hope to be home soon and bring you a doll from London. Mind your mother and don’t fight with your brothers.
Sorry I missed your birthday. Hope it was a good one. I know you are busy with basketball and your school work. I hope to be home the first week in March. Don’t forget to help your mother and watch your brothers.
Happy Birthday. Love, Daddy.”
He didn’t call much. People didn’t back then, so letters and postcards were special. The words of love may not have been any different on my card than the words he wrote for my brothers, but when I read the card addressed to me, they were my words—words from my daddy.
I think of those postcards sometimes when reading scripture. Even though the words may be read by others, I still feel like they are words just for me, words of love, words from heaven, . . .words from my daddy.
What would your postcards say?
Pictures courtesy of Pixaby.com