He has gobbled up most of the books I left him. He is not allowed to receive books in this new prison, so I'm grateful beyond words for that brief window of opportunity to send them to him. They included: The Hiding Place, The Screwtape Letters, Profiles in Courageous Manhood, Your People Shall Be My People, Know Why You Believe, God Meant It For Good, The Peace Child, Born Again, and Safely Home.
"...I've read most of them, and I know already that I'll be reading alot of them many times over. Thank you."
I write a letter each Monday. It is primarily newsy, with trite and endless chatter about the happenings here at home. I try to describe in some detail the events including the many people that he knows. And I always end with a scripture verse and brief discussion of its meaning.
I have no choice but to write these letters. It only takes a "think" or two and I am painfully aware of the emptiness surrounding him. I am confident that every connection to the outside world is cherished. My letters are undoubtedly read over and over again. I've considered writing them on the computer and printing them, but I feel just as confident that the personal aspect of a handwritten letter brings a human touch to him that he otherwise does not experience.
"There are days I'm inexplicably happy, and then within the span of one day, I'll be inconsolably miserable. Well, inconsolable except by a kind letter or undeserved smile."A tear was shed by yours truly. How simple a letter is, how practically effortless, and yet it is a beacon in his dark world.
You tell me -- would you have a choice about writing that weekly letter? I count it nothing but pure, God-given ministry. Apparently Kenny does, too.