Ever since I was little, my mom has stressed the importance of writing thank-you notes. The excitement over my younger birthdays and Christmases (both in December) was often short-lived, as the days immediately following were marked by my cramping hands and ink-stained fingers. As the little perfectionist I was, I would have to painstakingly practice my clumsy handwriting before using new stationary, triple-check addresses, and carefully affix stamps to envelopes before sending out my notes. In hindsight, I’m thankful I had so many family members to write notes to, and I’m grateful to my mom for instilling this habit in me. But this used to be my least favorite activity in December, feeling more like a chore than an act of gratitude.
My family has always been very into greeting cards in general. For my mom’s birthday, my dad often purchases at least one sentimental card, and one (if not several) funny cards to accompany it, and my mom does the same for him. It’s a fun game—scavenging for a card that tops the comedic genius of last year’s. And often, I think they look forward to exchanging their cards more than their gifts. Pro tip: we find the best cards at Waterway gas stations and in the ninety-nine-cent card section at Trader Joe’s.
Snail mail became more significant to me in college, as I moved to Michigan away from family and high school friends. I always looked forward to any notes from home appearing in the dorm mailbox portal. My grandparents would send birthday cards, Valentine’s, and sometimes even Halloween cards. And one of my grandmas and I are still consistently on the hunt for cards that mention hugs—we’ve been exchanging them via mail for years.
Handwritten notes are such an intentional greeting: they take more time to compose than an email or a text message, and they take effort to mail and stamp. USPS doesn’t pick up the mail from my apartment complex, so I have to drive or walk my letters to the nearest blue mailbox up the street. It becomes a ritual: the choosing of a perfect card, writing something meaningful, then preparing and sending it off into the world. It’s a moment of stillness to practice gratitude for the people in my life.
During my months studying abroad, one of my favorite things to do was visit hole-in-the-wall bookstores or charity shops and flip through their postcard collections. Something felt almost sacred about holding them, the faded writing scrawled on the back of fraying cards—notes to a lover in Vienna, a mother somewhere in France, a grandmother on holiday in Greece. You could feel the history in the postcards, though many were simply offering updates on the weeks prior or asking when the recipient would be coming to visit.
Similarly, my letters these days most often include minute weather & life updates, or a simple “happy birthday” and “I miss you.” But the Gospel is shared with us in letters, so there must be something significant and profound about them. And I like to think that my uncomplicated notes written to best friends across the country and grandmothers dear to my heart are similarly solidifying our place in history—indicating that the details of our lives are equally important, even if we aren’t on a glamorous holiday in Greece.
Olivia graduated from Calvin in May 2018 with a double major in business and writing. She now works as an editor in Nashville, Tennessee and is eating her way through the restaurants of her new town. She enjoys weekend trips with friends, petting other people’s dogs, and drinking coffee like a Gilmore Girl.
