@brittarnhild
I was writing a post over in my Norwegian blog Blåklokkeveien the other day, about two very special letters which I have on my desk. The letters were written in May 1958, by my mother to her father. I was one month old at that time, my parents´first child. My mother´s father had esophageal cancer and was in Oslo for treatment. He died a month later, having seen me only once. I am told that when he met me, he laid both his hands on my head and blessed me.
In the letters my mother writes about several things, but again and again she has something to tell her father about her little baby girl. I still had no name at that time. 58 years later the letters are like a blowing kiss sent me from my first month of living. Or actualy two blowing kisses. One from my mother, the letter writer. One from grandpa Benjamin, who read about this tiny little baby girl, his third grandchild, and who kept her in her heart and prayers.
Advent is a time for writing letters. I know that I will naver make it to write all the letters I want to during these short weeks before Christmas, but I have started, and I will continue. With a single advent light on the table in front of me, with a Christmas cd on the player. While writing it will be like having a chat with the friend who will receive the letter. Blessings shared.
Writing letters and cards is one of my favorite advent traditions.
