“Now what do I say?”

Peter stared at the twenty-seven cents resting forlornly on his blank sheet of notebook paper. He couldn’t send another letter. As if his dad cared anyway.

He brushed a tear away. All his dad had to do was write—just once!

Well, at least God cared. That was what made everything seem okay, even when it didn’t look like it.

“What would God write?” he asked aloud.

Sitting back in his chair, he looked across to his favorite picture sitting on his dresser. His mom and he were smiling after a good roll in the grass. It had been his dad’s favorite picture too, at least before he had gone to jail.

Peter sniffed, then, had an idea. He pulled his postcard collection from his desk drawer and picked one from the bunch. It had a dog on the front with a flower between its teeth. Perfect. He slid his pen between his fingers.

Now what to say?

He had said “I love you” and “I miss you” so many times, he couldn’t count. Yet, he hadn’t received a single response. His mom had told him his father wasn’t much for words.

Did his dad even love him anymore?

Peter sniffed loudly again. It didn’t matter; he loved his dad anyway. And he knew that God loved him too. He looked over at his picture again.

“Wait a minute! It’s perfect!”

Hopping out of his chair, he picked it up, then carefully removed the photo from its frame. Taking a pair of scissors, he cut a blank piece of paper to size. He glued the paper to the back of the photo and put his dad’s prison address on the right side.

He leaned back in his chair again and looked at his mom’s smiling face. “God, maybe, just maybe, it says enough.”

He left the homemade postcard blank and had his mother mail it the next day. Praying hard, he set about to earn some more money for more stamps to send more unanswered letters.

A few days later, he was under the table scrubbing a spot on the kitchen floor when his mom walked in.

“Peter!”

Her voice was urgent, and he scrambled out quickly. Her bags of groceries were dumped by the door.

“Your father wrote.” She handed him the unopened letter. “You should read it first, since you’re the one who’s been writing to him.”

He took a deep breath, hardly believing the handwriting on the envelope. He opened the flap and pulled out a thin piece of paper. Four words stared back at him: “I love you too.”

Yep. It was enough.

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