A Woman of Letters

I have no letters after my name.
No MSW, no PhD, no MDiv.
Just plain old me.
But, let me tell you, I’ve got letters.
Boxfuls of letters.

There is a box in my closet labeled “Montana Letters.” It is full of crinkly old papers covered with spidery long-hand penmanship. Somehow, these letters traveled from Montana to Wisconsin between 1899-1906, probably by train and wagon. They were written by my great-great-grandma Harriet to her daughter, my great-grandma, Kate. Faded two cents stamps on the envelopes are postmarked with a place and date. The letters were passed down from generation to generation and survived in musty basements for 120 years. I treasure them now, but at the time, they weren’t anything special. Just updates on the family, reports on how the crops were doing, and longings to see each other again.

But that’s not all.

I compiled all the letters my dad wrote to his parents during his Navy days aboard the USS Fanshaw Bay during WW2 and bound them into a book titled “Letters Home: 1944-1946.”

In another box, there are more envelopes secured by a rubber band. These are letters PB and I wrote back and forth as we were falling in love and anticipating marriage. They still smell like Emeraude perfume.

I have postcards my kids wrote home during their week at Camp Lucerne. “Mom, I forgot to pack socks so I’ve been wearing the same pair all week.”

There are several plastic storage totes full of cards and notes I have received over the years from family and friends—the ones with a heart-felt message written by hand. They mean something, still.

God is the original writer, using His finger to inscribe words into a rock.
“He gave Moses the two flat stones on which he had written all his laws
with his own hand.”
Exodus 31:18


Twenty-one books of the Bible started as letters.
I’m grateful Paul didn’t have the option of texting or emailing his messages to the churches.

“Your very lives are a letter that anyone can read by just looking at you.
Christ himself wrote it—
not with ink, but with God’s living Spirit;
not chiseled into stone, but carved into human lives.”
2 Corinthians 3:3

Are you inspired to write a real live letter?
Send me a message and I’ll give you my mailing address!
dinah.overlien@gmail.com

Roadtrip

PB and I took a road trip to Montana. We drove 80 mph across smooth blacktop highways. We pulled over occasionally to pick up snacks and fill the gas tank. We stopped for the night and enjoyed a comfortable air-conditioned room with a soft mattress and hot shower. Breakfast was prepared and ready for us in the morning. We passed the hours by listening to audio books, podcasts and ball games.

As we sped down the interstate, I couldn’t help but think about my great-great grandparents, who journeyed from Wisconsin to Montana in 1886. They headed west to claim 160 acres of free land as a result of the Homestead Act, enacted by Congress four years earlier. There were no paved four-lane highways, no rest areas with flush toilets and no Holiday Inn Express hotels with hot breakfasts.

If Grandpa John and Grandma Harriet could see us now, they would be in awe at the speed in which we travel and the luxury we enjoy along the way. Life sure has changed since 1886.

Thankfully, some things haven’t changed —
things like mountains, rivers, and the famous Big Sky.

“Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days…
in whose light everything seems equally divine,
opening a thousand windows to show us God.”
John Muir

“You created the mountains by your power,
and demonstrated your strength.”
Psalm 65:6