It's never too late for love

	Photo courtesy of Doubleday / Random House, Inc

Since the time of the Revolution, Americans have penned war-related letters that express every conceivable human emotion, sentiment, and experience. And the motivations behind writing this correspondence are as diverse as the letter writers themselves. Many simply want to convey their sense of love and affection for the recipient. Others want to tell an extraordinary story that might otherwise be lost or forgotten. And some hope to impart words of advice from which younger family members and generations can learn. It is rare, however, for a single missive to do all of these things at once in a truly memorable way.

The following letter was written by 80-year-old Dell Myrick on October 5, 2006, to her husband on their wedding anniversary. Her words are a powerful reminder of the importance of faith, hope, and love — particularly during those times when all three are tested.

From the introduction to Grace Under Fire, edited by Andrew Carroll

My Dear Herman,

As our 11th anniversary approaches, I realize how blessed we have been all these years to be together. And I also realize how much we have missed all those years before.

I remember when I was just 15 years old and approaching my 16th birthday, I was standing in the hallway of our school when I heard someone say, “I wonder who the new boy is.” I looked up to see you there on the stairway — a brown-haired, trim, blue-eyed, jean-clad boy. Then the strangest thing happened. It was almost as if something went “zing” and an electrical shock had hit me.

To cover up my feelings I replied, “I don’t know, but he certainly needs a haircut.” That was not true, for your hair was not really that long. But a sense of wonderment had come over me, and I did not understand it. I know now that God was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t know what.

As it turned out, you were in my brother’s class and your sister Sue was in mine. So it was inevitable that we should meet. I found out that you and your family had just moved to Alabama from Los Angeles. Since we were in the middle of the Great Depression, things were so uncertain in those days. Money was practically nonexistent and only those who lived on farms, as you and I did, could be sure of plenty to eat. So you and your family were living on your grandfather’s farm and you both worked on it and went to school, even though you were only 17 years old the following spring.

I remember an old wooden box telephone hanging on our wall, but it was not usable because the telephone company had gone bankrupt. Dad said people in the area had cut parts of the line to use for clothesline. And since we had no car there was little communication with the outside world, except for a battery radio, which we used sparingly to make the battery last longer.

Then came December 7, 1941, when we listened in shock on this same radio that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. The next day, our teacher herded us all into the auditorium, where we heard that the United States had declared war on Japan. I remember thinking that you, and my brothers, would have to go to war and might be killed.

Up until this time I had been so happy on school days and on weekends when you would walk the 6 or 7 miles to my home to see me. Although you had a Model-A Ford, you seldom used it. Ten cents for a gallon of gasoline was too much to spend. Anyway, we were all used to walking the dusty country roads wherever we went. My heart always leapt with joy when I would see you. Most of our dates were at home. Sometimes we would meet at church revivals or church singings, but we never discussed marriage. Times were too uncertain, after the war began, to plan ahead. But it seemed that there was never any doubt in our minds and hearts that we belonged together.