The Post Office

"My little children, let us not love in word or in tongue, but in deed and in truth." 1John 3:18.

In my high school years, we lived in a small Arizona town named Oracle. Oracle was a compact little community with two grocery stores, two Mexican restaurants, a steak house, an elementary school on one end and a junior high on the other. There was a library, a graveyard for the deceased who had been property owners in town, three filling stations, a couple of convenience stores, four bars and several churches. The place where everyone congregated most often was none of these, but rather the local post office. The two women who were the postal workers also lived in town and knew nearly everyone who walked in the doors.

It was routine to check our mail boxes daily (Oracle was a rural community with no door-to-door mail delivery), then go to the window to visit the girls behind the counter. They would always call us by name, ask about our family members (also by name), and proceed to share with us any new events of the day.

Eventually, a stamp machine was placed in the foyer of the post office, but most often, people would ignore it, going to the window to make their purchases and enjoy the cameraderie with those sweet friends behind the counter.

Some years later, as an adult, I was part of a ministry that would visit a nursing home in our neighborhood every Monday night, where we would bring the ambulatory residents into a room and lead them in a short Bible study and hymn singing time. One night, in particular, I remember going into the room of a woman, whom I later discovered was named Ruth. She sat on the edge of her bed as I helped her get her shoes and socks on. She seemed puzzled and after a few moments, looked down at me and said, "Can you tell me who I am?"

I remember being very brokenhearted for her as she was suffering from early dementia and had no idea who or where she was. She could not remember her own history and did not recognize anyone around her. I told her I would find out her name from one of the nurses, then I took advantage of the wonderfully perfect opportunity to share with her about One who does know her name and of His great love for her.

It is often a small gesture that brings hope to one who may need more than our glances recognize. May we never become insensitive to others and may we always show the Father's love to everyone who passes by.

In His grip,
Teresa