Returning

a postcard from the beach

If one great-grandmother is the primary source of my inherited faith, then my paternal grandparents are the origin of my love for travel. They really did see the world. Bringing back pieces of those adventures to share and inspire.

Photo albums of their trips filled bookshelves in the den. I never grew tired of flipping through them or making lists—on paper and in my imagination—of all the places I would one day visit.

I still have a stuffed koala bear they brought back from Australia. Wool blankets from Ireland. Christmas ornaments from several European countries.

Until recently I had a silver charm engraved with an angel they bought for me in Rome and had blessed at the Vatican when I was in the throes of depression, letting me know I wasn’t alone. I no longer have that charm…because I gave it back to my grandma last fall when she was in the hospital. A reminder of our connection. I trust that one day it will return to me again.

More than the photos or the gifts, my favorite thing was receiving my grandparents’ postcards from all over the world. Postcards, like snail mail in general, are a becoming a thing of the past, replaced by emails, texts, and posts on social media. What one generation considers “normal” another labels “old-fashioned.”

Yesterday, I went into a little souvenir shop hoping to purchase postcards to send to a few folks back home. There were none. The attendant said they stopped stocking them because no one buys them anymore.

Sitting on the beach last night, waiting for a sunset, I was reminded of how things change. Change in value and appreciation. In practice and in habit. In heart and in mind. Do we fear change? Or do we embrace it? Is it possible to embrace what we fear? To be changed without losing who we are?

Sunday morning, back among friends and beloved community, I preached a message about remembering and re-imagining inherited songs. In the process remembering and re-imagining my own faith and calling. I didn’t lose it. I let it go. It’s returning in ways I didn’t know were possible.

There’s something about a postcard that captures a moment in ways other forms of communication cannot. Postcards are personal. Shorter than letters. Sweeter than souvenirs. A snapshot of an experience that lives on as long as we allow ourselves to remember.

When is the last time you sent or received a postcard?

Is there one place you long to visit? What would it take to go there?

Are there ways to travel and experience the world without leaving home?

Curiously yours, Rebecca