Bringing Back the Letter — One Stamp at a Time
These days, it feels like almost everything is typed, tapped, or swiped. Whether it’s emails, texts, or voice messages, communication has become fast and convenient but also a bit distant.
I remember growing up when writing letters was the way to stay in touch. We had pen pals, and every envelope that landed in our mailbox felt like a small gift. Sometimes we were matched through school projects, and other times we simply wrote because a friend had moved away. Hardly anyone had cell phones then, so putting thoughts to paper was how we kept our connections alive.
And now, most people don’t even know where their stamps are.
But yesterday, something unexpected happened, the kind of moment that makes you stop and smile.
My son came up to me with a serious look and said, “Mom, can you help me find where to write a letter? I’m tired of MakeMake not having a moon named. I’m going to write to them and ask for one.”
Not only that — he already had a name picked out: “Rori.”
That’s the name he hopes they’ll choose.
I honestly had to pause. A letter, not a Google form or email?
I looked for an address and couldn’t find it. But guess who did? He found it himself. Then he asked for an envelope, folded his note with care, and sealed it like it was a mission. That’s how he is when something means a lot to him — he gives it his full attention.
Just as he was ready to send it off, I said, “Wait, we need a stamp.”
“A what?” he asked.
“A stamp,” I said, smiling. “We’ll ask your dad for some tomorrow and send it out then.”
He didn’t love having to wait, but he nodded. I told him, “I hope your letter gets through. I think it’s a great request.”
That little moment brought me back. Back to when things were slower, more intentional. There was something real about writing letters and not because it was perfect, but because it took effort.
And effort means something.
It reminded me how faith often grows in these kinds of slow, intentional spaces. It’s not just in the big moments or answers to prayer. Sometimes it’s in watching your child believe that his voice matters. Sometimes it’s in finding peace in the waiting even for a stamp.
Faith isn't always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, like putting a letter in the mailbox and trusting it will reach the right hands.
So here’s my encouragement to you:
Let’s bring back the heart of handwritten connection.
Write a letter this week to a friend, a family member, even to yourself.
And in the process, ask God to show you where He’s inviting you to slow down, be present, and trust.
We don’t need everything to be instant. Some of the most meaningful growth happens in the in-between; one envelope, one prayer, one step at a time.
And maybe, just maybe, one day we’ll all look up at the night sky and see a little moon named Rori shining back at us.
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