Last year when I was moving out of my house, I happened across an old card that my grandmother sent me when she was alive. Covered in frolicking kittens, the card probably held a birthday check at some point, $1 for each year of my life, as was her style. Handwritten in her recognizable cursive was this message:
Laurie! Hallelujah! I love you! When are you coming home?
If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
I see you. I praise God. I love you. When are you coming home?
May I share that kind of love more often.