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