You’ve got mail

My friend Kristy wrote about the joys of getting actual mail (in the mailbox, not the inbox). We don’t get many letters anymore, what with email, cell phones, and texting taking over all forms of communication. If I get anything handwritten at all, it’s likely to be an invitation, a thank you note, or a postcard, instead of a letter.

But I remember back to my days as a missionary for the LDS church. Living in Germany, with no one but a companion who is virtually a stranger, trying our best to follow all the rules and teach strangers about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Sometimes the days were discouraging. Getting a letter from home was like a lifeline. A link to our past, and our home. And a wonderful pick me up after a hard day. We would often come home for lunch and we would ALWAYS check to see if we had post. And if we did, we would read it out loud while preparing or eating lunch. If we didn’t feel like sharing the whole letter, we would at least tell the news or the jist of the letter, or at least any funny parts. Because it’s not fun when your companion gets mail and you don’t. So we would share in our little joys.

I could count on about a letter a week from my family. Back then, a letter took at least a week to travel overseas, not like today when missionaries can check for email once a week or even text their families, so our questions were often slow to be answered, if at all. We were required to write to them once a week, too, and I can say that I Always did send off a letter to my folks. I could just imagine my mom freaking out if she had to go more than a week or two for a letter (sorry, mom). Since the price of postage to the USA was not cheap, I would often include one page letters or postcards or pictures for friends in my family’s letter, with a little note to “please send this to so and so”. What nice parents–they always forwarded them along. Of course, they probably read them all, too.

Ryan was by far my biggest letter writer. He was madly in love with me and had to convince me through his letters and packages that he was indeed the one for me, without actually coming out and saying it in those exact words. What can I say? His plan was to just inundate me with letters so I would fall in love with him. We’ve been married for over 15 years, so I guess it was a good strategy. While in the Missionary Training Center, he was almost obnoxious in the amount of letters he sent. This was back in the day when you could still hand deliver letters or packages, so he would just swing by the MTC on his way home from class and drop off a letter. And since he wrote to me while in class, and apparently his classes were extremely boring, because he would use his time to doodle extensive designs on the envelopes. Everyone in my MTC district knew by the envelope that a-the letter was for me, and b-that it was from Ryan. The guys in my district got a little bit protective of me, and did NOT like “that Ryan guy.” I have to admit, it was kind of distracting, and I almost told him to just buzz off and leave me alone. But I liked the packages too much, and wouldn’t want to cut that off, now would I? Little did I know, but the creative genius behind any and all fun packages was Ryan’s sister, Julene. Talk about a bait and switch–(Just kidding, honey).

During one long and hot summer in Mulheim on der Ruhr it had been a while since either of us had gotten any significant post from home, and as we checked the mailbox one afternoon, there was one lone postcard with a picture of BYU on it. It was from Ryan. Not much in the way of news or a letter, but at least it was something. I noticed that there was no postmark over the stamp. I decided to try an experiment and dropped it into the nearest mailbox. Sure enough, the next day or so, that postcard showed up in our mail. We must have dropped that same little postcard into the post six or eight times that summer. I’m sure our postman hated us. How obnoxious that they keep getting the same postcard. Dumkopf! But at least it was something in our lonely mailbox, instead of nothing.

At least back then, as a missionary, we didn’t have to receive stupid junk mail, bills, or notices from the IRS.

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