In this current day and age of instant communication (Tweets, texts, faxes, emails, cell phones, etc) where you can pretty much track down anyone you want, at any time, for any reason, it is amusing to me how consistently I wait for the mailman at work. Mail delivery is a highlight of my day. I know he comes between 10-11am and when I hear him come, I patiently wait for the staff receiving the mail to sort through and stamp it. I know that if there is anything for me, it will be handed to me within 3 minutes of the mailman's arrival. So I wait...and most days anymore there is nothing...or if it is something, it's a bill. What I'm really waiting for is jail mail.
There are now only a couple of kids I keep in touch with consistently. I remember years ago I sent out 18 Thanksgiving Day cards and then was told about myself--I'm here to work with the kids that are HERE--not get paid $XX per hour to write cards to kids in jail. So I scaled back and have continued to do so.
Still, the only communication I can have w/ those kids behind the bars is snail mail. They used to be able to call but I personally believe me accepting hundreds of dollars a month worth of collect calls way back when cancelled all that. I kinda like the hand written letter...and sometimes it comes w/ fancy drawings on the outside (bought and paid for w/ a soup or pack of cookies). So when I don't hear from one of them for a while, it can become maddening--I can't shoot and email, text, check Facebook, or anything to find out what's up. I have to wait...for the mailman.
Back in the "Chapters" blog, I wrote about a young man I've referred to in posts a few times who was leaving for prison. The last time I spoke w/ him was November 2nd. I followed his movement through the system on the NJDOC website and, in Ms. Jen fashion, sent letters and cards to each destination. The praise was that he got into the facility he'd wanted to (the one I was hoping for also!)=closer to home, not the worst reputation for violence and gangs. So I waited all November to hear how he was fairing...=nada. Kept sending little cards, warm wishes, "Hope you're settling in ok". Waited through December...checking my mailbox several times a day in case I missed the mailman and staff shoved something in there too far back for me to see...nothing. The thoughts came like annoying gnats that wouldn't go away--he's in lockdown, he's "not beat" to be writing you, he's in medical, he used you to get a sentance reduction and now he doesn't need anything from you--URGH!?
Thursday I was in my office yapping w/ a co-worker and I heard the front doorbell ring. I asked,"Is that the mailman?" She started walking to the door and called back, "No--the mail already came", and my heart was like, "Boo--another day with no news", until she added, "You got a letter from ____." ERUPTION of joy! EXPLOSION of relief!? "I DID???!!! Where is it!?" She handed it to me (it hadn't been stamped yet!) and I felt like a kid on Christmas tearing into this letter. All fears, worries, doubt floated away as he assured me he was fine. He apologized for the delay in writing but, since he had no money and hadn't gotten state pay for his job inside the prison yet, he'd had no envelopes or stamps--an explanation I can stomach as I know how hot a commodity those things can be, worth several soups or snacks. With his letter came a list of requests--please get in touch with mom, please give so-n-so my information and tell her to write, please send me pictures of my YouthBuild class, etc. He could have asked me to stand on my head and that would have been fine--just to know, see in writing, and hold physical evidence that this kid is alive and well...
I think our instant communication is good...maybe. I'm glad that I am able to be humbled, though, by having to wait for snail mail. It keeps me prayerful for the young people I'm waiting to hear from.
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