Letters from My Father

My father wrote letters to me; more often than any girl would. It was written with love. Neatly written in his very own hand but with severe curves, which could take time to read.

Letters from my father
Actual photos of Letters from My Father

Today, I was submerged in a plethora of emotions, looking back at those good old times. My father would use pages from the workbooks of my siblings; a one-liner and neatly summed up what were contained in his writing.

I put them in between my books and re-read them from time to time. At least, he’d enquire what he had written to me, the next time we meet. So, at least, I’d read again before vacation time began.

It was his handiwork so I have this feeling of attachment whenever I read his letters, especially after he departed. In that way, the sudden long distance between us was easier to bear. It was his way of making us feel special.

Going back a few years, we thought we’d be providing together for the family in any means we could do in our capacity. I was blessed to find work in our locality. So we thought we’d be together and we’re happy lots.

But then I set out for University education in a faraway land; more than 1500 miles from home, with bad connectivity. The dilapidated transport system, leaving aside the very high airfare, could take us some three-four days, approximate, to reach back home by rail routes.

Brief contents of the letters:

Occasionally, that envelope reaches me. The letters could be long while some are short and straight to the point. The long ones I called them sermons, and the short ones are my father’s wishes for me.

My father had, always, included quotations from the Holy Bible. His sermon summaries or based on Bible verses are included. He wanted me to write back my thoughts on the given topic or verses.

In some of the paragraphs, I was updated on our family financial status, family members and their performances in whatever field they’d undertaken. The neighbourhood news, entwined with humour, was always a treat. I was always delighted to get hold of his letters.

I felt sorry, at times, because his letters could not comprehend me: in his love and guidance in the light of the Lord. I did things I’m not supposed to, sometimes, in some ways. But he accepted me through and through.

My father always mentioned he misses me a lot. He trusts me to stand alone and be true to our beliefs. To keep his teachings should be held more important. There were times when I looked at his letters in regretting what I had done.

That much impactful was the value of his words. His expectations and non-expectations were stated. He reminded me, time and again, not to worry so much about my future.

There were times when my replies would be negative and unpleasant. I’m that sort of a person when it comes to conversing with other than my mind. My meagre introduction to studying Political Science, as we’re busy with those trends of ‘Critical Analysis and Compare and Contrast’, gets reflected in some way. It’s a ‘laugh off’, or if it’s serious, a concern for him.

My Feel-Good Factor:

My father doesn’t want to let me feel bad. He knows I was alone. He’d never write hurtful words. When I need correction he’d choose those extra-sweet words. In that faraway land, he simply reminds me of his principles and home rules.

He reiterated his prayer for my well-being and even for my finding a good partner in life. Every morning and night they, not only him, our family prayed for us, he informed. Fear not! God must be with you, he wrote.

Your mother has always been beautiful, lovely, and gentle he wrote with a slight hue of humour. The quiet, kind, hardworking, and loveable character of my mother was once again appreciated. And I love this part.

When he told stories of characters from the Bible, I would say just give me the text I have my Bible with me, in a light manner, so that he might save time and energy. Yet reading and meditating on it is more important.

Father wanted me to feel good whenever I read from him. And that’s the beauty of it. Also, the beauty of life before our easy access to the internet and telephones, especially cellphones.  It is because in that way I let my mind wander to be with them.

About work and lifestyle:

Crop failure or farm status was a must tell. God has provided us with this far so we’ll live on, he encouraged, when crop didn’t do well. Let me put out one sample here:

You work hard; we’ll do the same, here at home. Let’s see how far we can make it. In the end, we must learn contentment in what we get. Be careful not to turn away from the path you’ve followed since your childhood. I could recall him teaching us about a chapter on contentment in his brief stint as our teacher.

Whenever I wrote back I need to get him updated on the city where I stayed, my college lifestyle and the likes. What I had enjoyed about the paving and whatnot, are a must tell. This practice has enlivened me in many ways.

He always ended with a loving note which got me emotional at times. But I was warned before that it’s not for that purpose.

Living it Out:

Some repetitive I was quick to point out, which my father said was because he wanted me to live it out wherever I am. The way it should be with reading the Bible and being living with and living it out.

Sermon outlines and my inputs are requested when Christmas or some special days approach. In this way, I’d rendered my thoughts for him, which also provide a good time for thinking on the Lord’s.

The letters looked worn out now. But they’re still with me: some in my mind and some physically. They are always special to me. I am undecided about putting it out, word to word.

the end of my father's letter
My father signed off his letter

I am thankful for the time he devoted to talking to me. He’d do anything for my well-being. But we too have a clash of ideas, at times. My father always signed off his letters with benedictions.

In all these times, I rediscover his advice are always for my betterment. And I was sad I couldn’t follow all of them.

When we meet again I wanted to get more of him and his love. I am glad for his timely letters and his love for me.

That last time where I delivered a eulogy at my father’s funeral program I did not shed tears because, deep in my heart, I believe he lived on in his Savior’s arm!

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