A while back, I went through a ‘remembering box’ of stuff my mom had saved from when I was little; things she collected during my growing-up years. I found a letter she had saved that I had written as a school assignment. The letter was never sent. It was just an exercise, an assignment in writing our teacher had given us. Seems like I vaguely remembered that assignment. We were told to write a letter to someone. We could say whatever we wanted. We could choose whomever we wanted. The only criteria: write good sentences, containing correct spelling, and proper punctuation.

The letter I found in my mom’s remembering box was to my grandpa, who was, in my growing up years, the wisest, strongest, smartest, best story-telling person in the entire world. He lived in the country, about three hours from our home, and I didn’t get to see him as much as I would have liked when I was growing up. But, my teacher gave us that assignment to write a letter to someone of our own choosing, my grandpa must have been the first person I thought of.

A letter, written in a child-like scrawl, and saved in my mom’s remembering box:


Dear Grandpa,

How are you? Just fine, I hope. I hope I can come to see you this summer. I hope you don’t work too hard. My teacher said I had to write this letter. I hope it is okay.

Sincerely yours,

Your grandson, Kenny Jones


My letter to my grandpa was filled with hope, you might say. I used that word 4 times, in a letter that was only 6 sentences, and 38 words long. He never got that letter, of course. My teacher didn’t mail the letters. She graded them, checking the spelling, the grammar, the punctuation. But I wonder how my grandpa would have answered my letter if he had received it? As a young child, I would no doubt have cherished that letter, knowing it was written by the wisest, strongest, smartest, best story-telling person in the entire world. I would have poured over every word. I’d have read my grandpa’s letter to me a thousand times, until I could recite it from memory.

God, of course, doesn’t wait for us to write a letter to Him. He’s already written to us. His letters aren’t forgotten, hidden away in some ‘box of rememberings.’ The Bible is the best-selling book of letters in history. Nearly 4 billion copies have been sold in just the last 50 years. And every year, it far out-sells every other book written. No, the question is not “Did God write us,” but rather, how will I view what He’s told me. Do I cherish His letter, and see how much hope is there? Treasure His words, knowing they are written by the omniscient and omnipotent God who created the entire world and everything in it? Do I pour over every word, like I would if it was my grandpa’s letter to me? Would I read it a thousand times, until I could recite it from memory.

In this new year, as it’s just beginning, why not determine to read and re-read God’s Word every day? You’ll be reminded that He’s the wisest, strongest, smartest, best story-telling God you could ever know.

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