Dear Joe,

I didn't close my eyes when you prayed Sunday. Sorry, but I wanted to watch your face. I watched you and I was happy to get a glimpse of who you are. I wanted to see what sort of a person you are becoming, what kind of husband you are to Audra, if you are strong enough and good enough for our precious girl.

When she chose you - I was surprised. Almost, I will admit, appalled. You did not at all fit the image I had formed in my mind of the man Audra would choose. (Maybe no son-in-law does.) But Audra was convinced. She was certain and I was happy with her and for her. Yet, I have not stopped watching.

Now, you have fathered six children and each child has changed you. Each year of your walk with God and your marriage to Audra has seen a new person emerge more and more.

As you prayed, I thought about what a miracle you are. You, Joseph Michie, once a lost and lonely young man, staggered by the weight of life and stumbling in the way of sin. Now, a new man, praying there for your wife, your mother, and your mother-in-law. How amazing is that transformation? How wonderful is that!

It made me so glad! You have come so far since you turned onto the path of light and began to become a man of God.  You have grown so much since you determined to be a good father and a great husband. I want to watch as you become the man God sees in you--the man He sees when you pray.

Of course, I wasn't the only one looking during your prayer and I bet it made Him glad too.

Love you, Elece

Dear Ellen,

I am so happy to have met you this winter. If you were ever in Brownie Scouts, I'll bet you remember the little song: "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold." We sang this diddy in a round and it could go on and on. I guess I will still remember it when I have forgotten who I am and where I live! :)

You seem to be a quiet person. The thing I liked about you right away was your smile and your friendly voice. You are not pretentious.You just let people see who you are and take you or leave you. That is a pleasant way to live.

You are an unselfish person. I noticed how you always wait on people, offering a chair, or something to drink, or your own sweater.You are hospitable and that is a good characteristic in a friend. You invited us all into your home for a visit and made us all feel welcome and at home. I like to know I have friends I could drop in on and they would be glad to see me and not upset.

You must know that I am that sort too, so come visit when you can. I may be a little hard to decipher, but I like people and I love having company. I enjoying getting to know a new friend. I know sometimes those friendships last for years and years. Let's hope for that!

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

It is the end of March in Oklahoma. My daffodills are blooming and the other bulbs sending up their spears to the blue sky. Soon the irises, the tulips, and the hyacinths will bloom. But this morning sleet is pelting the side of the house. The rain fell all night followed by freezing rain and then an hour or two of sleet, sounding like rice popping as it hits the windowpanes.

I ventured out into the cold wet wind to fill my empty bird feeders, grab the mail, and pick a bouquet with ice on it. The mud puddles and the water still standing from the last rain are frozen now. Snow is swirling out of the northwest - large soggy flakes. The weatherman predicts four to eight inches before the day is over. We have had these last of March snow storms before and they are soon gone and spring moves in with southern breezes and warmer days soon afterward.

In Louisiana, I was enthralled by the camellias that budded out on bushes and produced assorted orage, red, pink and salmon colored blossoms against shiny leather-like green leaves. What pretty flowers! I brought a potted one here to try my hand at raising them. Though roses grow well here, camellias don't stand a chance against the freezes we have. The lilacs I carried home from Michigan failed for want of enough cold.

Here we have the Indian Paintbrush, the Prairie Primrose, and the wild rose that trundles in great sagging sprays over pasture fences. Every place has its natural graces. Cardinals, cowbirds, chickadees, white-throated sparrows, downy woodpeckers, and nuthatches are busy outside my window like so many mobile flowers.

Brenna's little donkeys have eaten the center out of a round coil of hay. They seek the shelter of their open-sided shed on days like today. The cows and horses don't seen to mind the cold. They graze lazily along the wooded side of the orchard.

Winter clings and then is gone. Spring, summer, and autumn each hold allure and trials of their own. I love living where I get to experience all the seasons fully. Things change and new joys and challenges entertain us.

Thank you for the seasons, especially these that keep us hopeful.

Love you, Elece

Dear Friend from the Past,

I wish I knew your name, but I never had the opportunity to meet you.  You lived on a homestead farm along Highway 16. Your house is gone now. (I wonder if it was still there in the 1950's when I was born.) All that is left is an old cistern where you drew water  when you planted daffodils one spring. I imagine you carrying a full bucket of water to pour over the red Oklahoma dirt beside your gate where you had decided to place the bulbs.

Cows and horses now graze in pastures nearby and the wind sweeps across the grasses- uncut where once wagons slowed to see the bright flowers that spelled spring to their hearts. I know you loved those earliest blooms. I know they encouraged you, but I'll bet you never thought that someday after your house and barn had been bulldozed for pasture, those flowers would keep growing and spreading and encouraging.

Many cars and trucks pass by your old home place every day now. Some drivers notice the yellow flowers waving in the spring breezes. I am one of them. I know you were busy. I know you were hard working and had children to care for, chickens and farm animals to feed, eggs to gather, and bread to bake. Yet, you took time to plant.

I love the legacy of daffodils left behind by you mothers before us. I envision the garden gates, the storm cellars, and front steps of houses now gone, of women now gone, of families now gone. I wonder what life was like for you pioneers and I presume that  you were happy people, because you  planted daffodils.

Every spring the daffodils still bloom and it is a glorious sight. I wish you could see them.  I wish you knew that I pull off the road and walk back through the grass to pick  bouquets of the slender green stems and lemony trumpets. They are the symbol of spring to many. To me, they are the perfect  picture of hope. You planted them in hope for future springs you were looking forward to. They bring hope still.

Aren't they a cheerful sight in my kitchen windowsill- like a letter through time from your house to mine?

Thanks, Friend, thanks so much.

Love you, Elece

Dear Rebecca,

Guess what, Sister? Today I recieved my diploma from the Institute of Children's Literature! It took me two years to finish the Writing for Children and Teenagers course. I've learned so much and I  know it will benefit me in many ways. I earned six college credits besides.

You have helped me see that I have something to offer and that I can accomplish my dreams. You gave me my first sucess in writing with my Prayers of a Teacher book, even though that book was never published. Without your pushing me on, I likely wouldn't have gotten work published in so many books and magazines or the internet.

The course I just finished has helped me to determine the way I want to go with my work. Many writers think they want to write children's picture books and from the course work I came to the conclusion that this is not what I want to do most,  though I'm certain it would be fun. I want to write for women. I want to write gift books. I want to keep up my moms' column. This is the style of work I want to specialize in.

Thanks for the encouragement on my writing path. Thank you for trusting me with assignments. Thanks for giving me opportunities to stretch myself.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

Thanks for the sounds of today. A hawk is calling as he soars across the orchard. I love to hear the birds, the meadowlarks perched on the barbed wire fence, the hawks wheeling, the chattering of the songbirds, the ka-plink, ka-plink, ka-plunk of the cowbirds (like berries landing in Sal's mother's bucket), the cooing of doves, the lonesome night call of a whippoorwill, and the owls stirring up the night air.

So many lovely sounds and mixed with the tree frog choruses and the laughter of children and the whistle of a tea kettle, the hesitant notes of a child learning to play a piano, a far off train whistle, make our world a place of beauty--a wonderland of sound.

We all have favorite sounds, sounds that spell peace, comfort, joy, freedom, and excitement to our ears. I am so glad that you created voices, music, birdsong, and even the sounds of a flowing stream, waves on the shore, wind in the treetops, a baby's coo and cry.

Help me to be alive to sound, to hear it, to study it, to feel it, to know it. Thanks, God.

Love you,
Elece

Dear Mama,

I sure do miss you! It would be great if I could just drive over to see you sometimes. (If you lived less than twenty-one hours away.) If it didn't take so long to drive and at such an expense , besides missing work and school. To just be able to drop by and bring you some flowers, a meal, or a book would be so nice. We could drink a cup of coffee together and talk things over.

I've been married to Ron now for thirty-seven years and I love him, but it has been hard having to live so far from one, if not the most, influential person in my life. I have lived far away all of those years. Yet, you have always been a guide and an encourager to me--even long distance. Thank God for telephones!

I miss you, Mama. I will dream a little visit for us, remember your face, hear the cadence of your voice, and be near you, at least in heart.

Love you, Elece

Dear God,

The world is cold today. The sky is the gray of old modeling clay Mrs. Mason used to grudgingly let us play with during recess. I am weary of winter and wish for bright sunny skies, spring flowers, and green grass. I know it is coming and that it can't be far away. Spring always come when we almost lose hold of hope. Spring with evening rains, tree frog choruses, air that smells like damp dirt, moldy leaves, and old water.

I am anxious for the coming of the little breeze from the south that sings though he has no mouth. That breeze brings warm air and clear skies and makes the tulips, iris, and daffodils pop up like miracles from the ground.

Help me to hold out, God, to wait and be patient  for the spring to come.

Love you,
Elece