I have this box of letters.
They range, with varying frequency, from 1966 to 1982. I’ve been meaning to scan and transcribe them for a couple of years, and haven’t. Every so often I look at the box and think, “I need to do that.” And I want to. They are amazing letters, with a disingenuous musty smell lying about their fascinating contents. And they open a direct-route portal, by the way, for time-travel.
Time-travel?!
Christmas vacation, 1967. The correspondent goes from visiting St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where Cardinal Spellman lay in state, to touring the United Nations Building amid anti-war demonstrations on the steps. She describes dinner at a fabulous apartment on Fifth Avenue and beautiful holiday decorations in the famous stores. For the second leg of her trip, she flies to Miami, to 88 degree days and decorated houses like she’d never seen in the Northeast or the Pacific Northwest. She spends Christmas Eve with her late husband’s family at a Swedish smorgasbord and an open house breakfast. She closes discussion of her travels by saying:
“It just doesn’t seem like Christmas at all.” [Click to Tweet]
That line shifts the tone of all that proceeded it. Neither historic events nor renowned sights nor fine feasts could replace the tradition, home or lost love she craved.
Reading these letters gives me a mode of time-travel free of the usual litany of consequences (i.e., upending my own conception and/or tearing the space-time continuum), but not without risk and reward. After all, a writer may find inspiration tucked into an aging yellow envelope or creeping in threads of Spanish moss hanging over a tombstone. It takes a certain amount of bravery to follow an inspiration to its conclusion, since you never know what it might reveal about yourself. Erika Robuck touches on this at Writer Unboxed in discussing the way art allows communication across time. The people of the past, like my correspondent, share experiences across a one-way medium: time. She set her thoughts down and sent them forward, unconcerned that then-nonexistent I might be troubled or challenged by them almost 44 years later.
Paul’s New Testament epistles too are letters that were certainly meant for time-travel in this respect. These divinely-inspired texts still teach, reprove, correct, and train in righteousness today (see 2 Timothy 3:16). The book of 2 Timothy is personal and passionate and relevant, striking chords in the modern reader’s heart as Paul encourages bold witness and faithful service, cautions against future hardships and evils, and essentially passes on the mantle of ministry. Then he says:
“Make every effort to come before winter.” – 2 Timothy 4:21a
The urgent request points to a deep friendship, and what may have been said at that winter meeting is unwritten — and yet universally known by the cravings of the human heart.
Thanks for reading! I also write fiction that bridges time and relationships. Learn more on my Books page.
