Making things happen

... with integrity

LeaderFOCUS Home | LeaderFOCUS Archives

Monday September 27, 2004 Volume VI Number 39

She’s already served seven months.  Now we know, it will be two years at best.  Mom and Dad are broken hearted - as are we all.  Kris is learning more about the dark side of California living than any parent would want their daughter to know.

I told my friend, her dad, that we would pray.  So we have. 

But Doug made another suggestion I won’t forget.  “Do you want to know the very best thing you can do for families with incarcerated children?”  (I mentioned that he and his good wife are one of two couples we know and love with children sentenced to harsh prison time just this year.)

“Tell me, buddy.”  I wanted to know.

“Here’s how your prayers can have a tangible impact…”  He paused.  “You know, Ken, there is no real communication with the outside world when you are in a prison cell.  No e-mail.  No visitors.  No telephone calls.” 

I remembered reading an article in which Martha Stewart’s attorneys asked that the high profile prisoner have special privileges – a cell phone, a laptop computer with wireless access to the internet, and a Blackberry.  All of them were, of course, denied.

“Write her a letter.”  That was it, Doug said.  The best thing.

“You can imagine,” Doug continued, “most prisoners are forgotten the day the sentence is handed down.”  Spouses file for divorce, he explained.  Parents, who may not have even shown up at court proceedings, disown.  Friends disappear.  Children, well, they don’t want anyone to know that daddy or mommy’s in jail.  If a prisoner gets a letter at the jail version of mail-call – well, it’s an event.  “A letter from the outside is pure gold,” Doug said.  “Pure gold,” he repeated.  “It gets read and re-read and re-read again and again.  It’s a treasure.  A keepsake.”

It got me thinking.  The written word.  Once it’s on the page, it has a permanence and an impact like few other means of communication.

So I wrote to her. 

I met Krissie when she was an elementary school child.  She was bright and perky full of mischief and fun.  I remember hearing about the Christmas Day the tree caught fire in the living room, and almost burned down the house.  Church folks and neighbors replaced all the Christmas gifts, five or six times over.  She thought it was the best Christmas ever.

I sat there with a blank page, and rather than use the word processor, I thought it better to handwrite – using my favorite fountain pen.  And as I put my pen to the page, I froze.  What does a guy old enough to be her father say to a college age woman whose life has just been tragically sidetracked because of one awful night’s misbehavior?  I didn’t know how to begin.

But of course, that’s never stopped me before.  How often have I starred at a blank screen, not sure how to begin yet another LeaderFOCUS?

So I did what I’ve learned over six years of just plain old getting started…

“Dear Krissie,” I wrote, and I re-introduced myself.  I thought she might remember us from years ago.  I told her how much we love her parents and how we are thinking of her and praying for her during these troubled times, and how much we believe in her… and then the thoughts took flight.  I talked about being strong.  I talked about a God who is greater than all the stuff.  I talked about hope.  I talked about not really being alone.  And before I knew it, I was choked up, and tears ran down my cheeks and the page was all filled up with words and phrases and sentences that somehow, when handwritten, carried something personal, something from the heart.  And that’s all.  I signed off.

I like to end letters with the simple word, “Sincerely.”  All those clever little alternatives designed to personalize the completion of a letter leave the traditional sign-off looking a little more meaningful.  Sincerely.  It simply says that everything that comes before is straightforward, honest, and from the heart.  Sincere.

I folded my sincere letter, sealed the envelope and sent it off to a non-descript address in the City of Los Angeles, with a number attached to the name – I’m assuming it’s the prisoner’s identifier.

And as I placed it in the mailbox, I imagined how it might be delivered, and how Krissie might look puzzled at the return address up in the left hand corner of the envelope and if, just if, those penned lines might somehow lift her spirits and transfer some degree of confidence in a God who has not forgotten her.

Her reply arrived yesterday.

Thank you for your words of encouragement.  No one really understands how much it means to receive letters from family and friends.

She drew a heart next to her name. 

Then she added “XOXO.” 

Hugs and kisses.

* * * * * * * *

Whatever happened to letter writing? 

It’s one of the many casualties of our techno-entertainment-oriented world.  We don’t take time to express our thoughts on paper.  We miss the opportunity to present to the people we care about the gift of a page filled with observations, passions, intentions, opinions, affirmations, heart. 

On my shelf just beside me sits a collection of the letters of Ralph Waldo Emerson (RWE).  It fills six volumes.  A century ago, letter writing was a way of life.

Sometimes, a letter can break through the ambient noise of modernity, and touch a heart.  It can renew a stale commitment.  It can create connectedness in a fast paced world where there is so little of it.

This week, we learned about such a connection – between two women who each experienced a strangely similar and agonizing loss.  Though strangers, one took time to write the other - a long, tear-stained and open revelation full of compassion.  She generously shared her heart.  The other, immersed in high octane busy-ness but all alone in her pain, replied.  But the response only came after a full six months of isolated pondering.

A deep, caring friendship was born.  I believe it will be a friendship for life.

It began with a letter.

* * * * * * *

It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.

You may not personally know someone confined in a prison cell.  But you do know people who believe their circumstances can be described as one. 

Doug is quite right.  A letter read in the confines of a prison cell is pure gold.

I learned about letter writing from my mother, who is an indefatigable writer of letters, a complete collection of which just might fill enough volumes to match RWE.  She stays connected with a burgeoning extended family, giving each of us the gift of noticing.  I know her as Mom.  My siblings and their spouses all call her that, too.  Then there are more than twenty grandchildren (plus a growing number of spouses) who call her Grandma.  All of us get notes and letters (some of them electronic) that simply tell us that she believes in us, she’s there when we hurt, she celebrates our little victories, she believes we’ll get through.  She catches us in the act of doing something right.  When we slip and fall, she tells us that it isn’t over yet.  There’s always time and an open door.  And she reminds us that there is a God in heaven who feels the same.

I got another one of those letters just this week.

So because she set the pace, I guess I got some of that buried somewhere in the DNA.  But not just me - the whole family.  We all write.

And you, too. 

By now, you are thinking of some notes and letters you ought to write.  Go ahead.  Take the time.  Find yourself a quiet corner.  Cut off the interruptions.  Put a good pen in your hand.  Make it high quality paper.  Start writing.

Whoever your addressee, make it clear that you are indeed, for these few moments as you put your heart on paper, “sincerely yours.”

Watch what happens.

Posted in Valley Center, California

© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004

LeaderFOCUS Archives

Send FEEDBACK

Click here to SUBSCRIBE

To UNSUBSCRIBE, click the link at the bottom of your e-mail alert.