There's a lot to write to you about again this week. I don't even need to begin on global affairs, the miserable zeitgeist, or the desperation of my friends.
Hopefully, my previous letters reached you and you're on the case with all of that. Speaking of which, I had to ask for a refund in the end, on that 'lost' package I told you about. I am sorry for being rude and impatient with the lady who runs the delivery service Twitter account. I'm sure her colleagues are brighter and more personable than I intimated and I appreciate her doing her job.
I can't imagine Stephen would have been so vocal.
He popped into view in my mind today. That's why I'm writing. A small man, balding, slightly stooped, wearing a dark blue anorak. He looked at me in Sainsbury's. Kind eyes sparkled behind angular features. A crooked sort of smile, emerging from nerves rather than confident affability. But it wasn't him, it wasn't Stephen. And that made me sad.
You see, God, I hadn't even realised that Stephen had been missing. All these weeks, or is it months? Not once had Stephen crossed my mind. Yet there I'd stood, busy, popular, funny, prominent, behind my piano. Not once did I notice.
Stephen thought the world of me.
Thinking back, he probably thought the world of everyone, actually. He'd scribble little postcards with scriptures and poems he'd copied or written: wonderful, elegant words from a blotchy pen, spidering across the card. He'd often stop and pray for me, and in his nervous, quiet voice he'd whisper to you, the kindest words about me I would hear that day.
I am sorry. I used to slide those postcards into my rucksack without reading them. I used to smile piously while his eyes twinkled, and I craned my neck to hear him.
Most of all though God, I'm sorry I didn't notice the quiet angel you sent us for a while. I didn't see him go, and his gentleness faded out of my awful memory. More than anyone, Stephen reminds me that you, Lord, give grace to the humble, and that you love the kindness of a tender heart. I only wish now, that I had learned that sooner. I would have liked to be like Stephen, stepping light years out of my comfort zone to be kind, beautiful and prophetic while I tremble with the fear of rejection.
So, wherever Stephen may be, I hope he's alright. Please do look after him. And thank you for sending him our way, even for just as short a season, to show us what courage, strength and determination can look like.
I'll keep you posted on the state of the world, the mess of global politics and my missing parcels if you like, next week. In the meantime, thank you for reminding me today about the quiet power of kindness. Help me put it into practice.
Thank you,
Me
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