When I hear those keys playing in first morning, a clarion of all things good, I know the books have finally and rightly settled down and he’s following the bars, stringing in notes, and he’s done it all himself and I spontaneously ask the bent one coloring with markers beside me:
“Can I borrow that perfect orange for just a moment? Just to write a wee note — and then you can have it right back?”
She smiles sweetly and nods generously and I just scribble it down, a missive of happy mother exclamation!
“Son! You are working so hard on that piano! I can hear you upstairs here and can I just say: I’m impressed! Just keep checking off the right songs as you practice and you’ll see what progress you are making! I love you! You are doing so well! I am listening!”
I hand her back her marker. And lean over to whisper in her ear.
“Would you be the mailman and deliver this to the young man at the piano downstairs?”
She gleams. Nods. Her curls bounce with the dancing blue eyes.
I sort papers, wipe counters, grin silly over him at the piano and the fragrance of grace.
Then she comes back up the stairs. There has never been a postman with a giggle quite like this.
It’s infectious, what she delivers.
“You gave it to him?” I’ve already opened up her delight.
Dignified, she nods, one curl dangling mid-forehead, tickling nose. She thrusts a paper up to me.
“And he wrote you a letter back.”
I look quiet down at the paper.
“He did?” I am tentative. Hushed. I can hear him again, the stairwell carrying his one note after another, up and down and up and down the scale. And I can still remember my words let loose.
He too must remember?
I unfold the sheet and I half brace, not sure what to expect. “Dear Mom…. Yes, I am checking off each song….”
Letters blur misty.
Love can bloom in winter.
Keep yourselves in God’s love as you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ…
~Jude 1:21
Photos: love letters exchanged
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