Handwritten

I barely knew her. The handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar, as was the return address. The name I recognized, but it had been 5 years since we worked together. Could this really be from Gloria? I wondered.

Slicing open the envelope, I found a standard off-the-shelf greeting card inside, the kind you would find by the hundreds at the grocery or pharmacy. This one was from the Sympathy section. I don’t recall exactly the words, and I have long since lost the card, but the message was clear, simple and sincere. Something like:

Curt, Accept my deepest sympathy in the loss of your father. That’s a tough one. Best to you, Gloria

The right word at the right time

Dad had been gone for less than a month, taken by a sudden heart attack at 72. I had been so busy with Mom, and funeral arrangements, and family, and all the other unanticipated disruptions, that I had hardly had time to reflect or grieve.

The cards and letters had poured into Mom’s mailbox, of course, and I dutifully tracked them on a clipboard, recording each sender’s name, for her future reference. Same with the phone calls in the first couple of days.

Gloria’s communique was not the only one directed to me specifically, but it was unique. In 1986, email was not yet in common use among the general public. In an enterprise such as the corporation Gloria and I both worked for, however, it offered a quick and easy alternative. Texting was not yet a thing.

Gloria had been an acquaintance but not a close associate in our corporate environment. I had worked on a few projects where she had oversight responsibility, and I had always found her helpful and fair. Most of our contact had been in the context of audio conference calls with a dozen other disembodied voices.

Nevertheless, I had met Gloria face to face on a few work-related occasions.

That was about as far as it went. She eventually relocated to a distant city with new responsibilities, and the working relationship receded into the background of an increasingly intense, high-stress career.

Small effort for big dividends

On this day, her note struck a chord with me. My recollection is that it had showed up in my company inbox. As I read and re-read her neat cursive, it occurred to me:

• She had stopped in a store, probably on other business, perused the available cards, and selected this one.

• She looked up my work address in the corporate directory.

• She thought briefly about what to say and hand-wrote her thoughts.

• She inscribed the address and return address, and dropped the card in company mail.

Not rocket science, not difficult, but not as easy as email.

And not nearly as convenient as merely ignoring the unfortunate but entirely predictable loss incurred by a casual business associate.

Gloria’s note launched me on a path of greater thoughtfulness toward friends and co-workers. I purchased a box of plain greeting cards with envelopes, obtained a book of US Mail stamps and kept it in the same box.

I chose cards that conveyed no message; they were entirely generic, with some simple illustration on the front — clouds, landscape, farm scene, whatever. Nothing that would indicate the reason for the card. I had written other personal notes, of course, but until Gloria showed me the way, I had no plan for it.

After receiving her card, I began to be intentional in writing a simple note to acquaintances when occasions warranted comment.

There is a time for every season under heaven

I discovered a trend during the course of my life and career, which should have come as no surprise, based on the progression of life’s decades:

• 20s: Congratulations on your new job/wedding. Hope it all works out!

• 30s: Congratulations on the birth of your son/daughter. Are you ready for this?

• 40s: Congratulations on your promotion. Did they really do a background check?

• 50s: Deepest condolences in the loss of your father/mother/grand.

• 60s: Retired! Say it ain’t so! How will they survive without you?

• 70s: So sorry to hear of the loss of your husband/wife/son/daughter; or, Sorry to hear of your diagnosis; hang in there.

I can’t say I am consistent in writing to everyone I should, but I try to catch more than I miss.

The handwritten note conveys a sincerity sorely lacking in our digitally-enabled society. The impact of such a note on the recipient is many times greater than the effort required of the sender.

And the impact on the recipient, of course, is the point. It can echo far beyond a message from one friend to another. The difference Gloria made has been felt by scores of others, leveraged far beyond the few minutes she invested.

I am grateful to her. Others are too; they just don’t happen to know her.

What does the Scripture say?

How good is a timely word! Proverbs 15:23

Cattle Baron’s Ball 2024 is in the book

We had a great time a week ago at the American Cancer Society Cattle Baron’s Ball in Wichita. It was organized well, the steaks were outstanding (a far cry from the rubber chicken circuit so familiar to my work life) and the survivor testimonies were moving.

There was as 6-year-old girl on stage, celebrating her remission from cancer. She was crowned the “First-Ever Wichita Cancer Warrior Princess”… or whatever that title was when she received her glittering tiara.

And there was the strong and tall 13-year-old young man from a farm family, whose cancer, after wicked rounds of chemo, has also recently been banished into remission.

Long may it remain so, for both of these. I really look forward to the testimonies a decade or two from now; how this Devil’s Detour will have redounded to the glory of God.

Many thanks to the Alligator Posse, some two dozen hardy souls who showed up at the Ball to support the wannabe Cowboy on stage with the microphone, and a grateful Thank You! to the table hosts who made our segment of the crowd possible.

Thanks for joining The Alligator Blog. Share the episode. And when you send your Christmas cards this year, include a handwritten note on a few of them. It will brighten somebody’s world in ways you will probably never know.

See you next time.