I had a random thought this morning about mail delivery and what it must be like to deliver mail to a neighborhood for months to years at a time. Undoubtedly, a story for each house might be synthesized in one’s head. From bills, to magazines, to personal memos and postcards. What story would one surmise if they saw the mail that I received? Or the thoughts that enter my head and exit my mouth? I think we are all like mailboxes in that we receive information most days, some expected, some unexpected. Sometimes it doesn’t even belong to us, wrong address. And other days we wish it didn’t belong to us, but it does. 

How many times have you waited for good news? How many times have you eagerly torn open a letter or package with high expectations? How many times were those expectations met? How many times were they not? How many times were your letters destroyed by inclement weather? As they say, don’t shoot the messenger. 

I guess what all this amounts to is that I hope that your story ends up with a happy ending. I hope that the information you receive will be positive more times than not. I also say a little prayer for the postal worker tasked with delivering your mail to you, that they might be inspired by the way your story unfolds. That all of our expectant desires are fulfilled in due time.