I send letters.  And cards, and postcards, and manila parcels and care packages. This goes way back for me, a fact unearthed by the stack of letters and cards and drawings I have found in the attic that I left for or sent to my parents here and there from about age five.


Sending a letter is a real act of faith for me.  I have ripped open a letter and then resealed it after all and sent it anyway.  I have ripped open letters ready to be sent and thrown them into the fireplace without a second thought.  I have thrown them into flames with much anguish. I have dropped them down the mail chute only to stress for days afterward. I have kissed them and dropped them in with blessing on my lips.


I feel strongly that it’s God’s charge to send forth Light from within me, and that’s why I reach out in such a “vintage way” when it’s such a dying art.  I am compelled to write.  I have never been able to keep a journal for myself, but I have probably written enough cards and letters to fill volumes.  It’s like a journal that is scattered across the country, and sometimes the world.  It’s also like a prayer. I will often wake with a name or two on my mind and I can’t rest until I have touched pen to paper for that person.


So in my letter writing I have experienced the whole range of emotions about what God has in mind.  If you have known me for long, and if I know your address, you have probably received something from me in the mail.  If you haven’t yet, it’s just a matter of time.  If I have written you, you may have thought, upon opening it, “What the…?”  Or you may have thought, “That’s just what I needed!”  But either way, I have been led to affix that stamp for the sake of Light-bearing, and my intentions are good and filled with love.


Only occasionally have I sent a letter that could have been my temporary undoing, but sometimes this has brought great healing to a broken or frayed relationship, and I have been so glad I let go of the fear and followed the Light.  Sometimes I have been met with silence.  And that’s okay.  Because I know I didn’t write casually, and that if silence is meant to be, then Amen.


I will keep writing when nudged, in every physical inky way as long as I am compelled, or until the postal service is gone for good.  And I hope to continue to see blessings ripple back in waves of connection and support and delight, as I have for decades so far. Want to be pen pals? Pal is just another word for Friend, after all. Maybe “Penn Pals”?

— Anne Marie Bowman Bracco

Where I Sit to Write to You, by Anne Marie.