I'm reading a book called The Wednesday Letters. I have had this book for a while, but put it on the back burner. I've been reading it this week. The book is a good one, making me think and reflect on many things. The premise of the book is this: a husband, beginning with his wedding night, writes his wife a letter every Wednesday. This letter may be as long as a novella, but as short as a couple of sentences. This goes on for almost forty years. When the two wedded people die, their children find all of these letters and begin to read them. Secrets come out, things are learned, and emotions run wild while the letters are read. What strikes me is how intimate of an act of love the letter writing is. To be committed to writing a weekly letter to your husband or wife is of great magnitude. How wonderful would it be to receive a letter each week, even when times are rough? It would be such a gift. And some kind of legacy to pass on to your children. For others to see inside your soul that way would be enlightening.
I have been so slack in writing lately. I am not keeping a journal. I have not seriously written since last summer. I need to get back into it. Perhaps this book was meant to open my eyes to the power of writing again. Where's my pen and paper?