Love Letter

I am an entry level minimalist and this weekend while I was purging discarded items, I rifled through some of the old cards I received from when I was younger. One of my favorites came in the mail a few days after a particularly difficult night when I was trying to downplay crying by blaming seasonal allergies. Didn't work.

I was fifteen. My family had moved into the neighborhood a year earlier. I can't even remember why I was crying. I just remember sitting on a couch in an alcove of my church, hopelessly embarrassed that my youth leader was being so nice to me in my time of distress.

She sent the note and told me she was thinking about me. Her note, most likely not coincidental, corresponded with Father's Day which added that little extra bit that I needed. Sometimes in my haste to distance myself from others, I forget how great those little moments are when someone does something so small and special. They remind me how not alone I am, how cared for. The woman moved away less than a year later, but I still remember her every now and again. And I remember what she did for me.