Sterling as a missionary. He is the second 'hen' from the left. Let's files this under 'strange missionary antics.'

Sterling as a missionary. He is the second 'hen' from the left. Let's files this under 'strange missionary antics.'

When Jordan was at BYU I sent her a few care packages and cards. I even got suckered into an alumni e-mail that offered a "final's survival kit." By far, our primary mode of communication was the phone -- talking and texting (and sometimes e-mailing). Heck, there was even the occasional FB message. Our options were broad. Now, however, we are reduced to a weekly e-mail and whatever we can feasibly send through the mail. (Note: It is incredibly expensive to send things to France! Who knew?)

Left with few outlets to reach Jordan, I've been writing up a storm. In many ways this is comfortable for me. I like to write. Sometimes I even have a hard time remembering if Jordan told me something or if I read it in one of her letters (see? senility can be useful). I've sent e-mails and cute cards and old-school snail mail letters on fancy stationary. Sterling, meanwhile, decided he would write once a week, on Sundays. I mean one measly e-mail? Okay. Fine. If that's how you want to play it.

Two Sundays ago Sterling was working at his desk.  When I walked by he showed me what he was working on. It was his weekly e-mail to Jordan . . . he had scanned in old pictures from his mission, told her stories of his experiences. He even scanned a program from his first congregation. Ummm . . . it was pretty cool.  He has a habit of showing me up like that. Not that it's a competition. Or that I'm competitive. That would be silly.


The cool part is that Sterling was a missionary some, ahem, 27 years ago -- making this an experience that the two of them share. He's busted out his box of missionary regalia, reminiscing about those years in his life while simultaneously sharing them with Jordan. I've asked Sterling to keep a file with all of his letters, so that at the end of her mission we can have them bound. What a record! Maybe we'll title them something like 'Letters from my Father (But I Missed my Mom Most).' Or something like that.