Today I broke free—from the fever, from the sore throat, and from my dramatic, blanket-wrapped existence on the couch. I re-entered society in the most glamorous way possible… by going to the—wait for it—the Post Office. Yes, I peaked early.

Getting mail: This is no small thing at our house. We live in a nearly 100-year-old bungalow style house  in Como Park, St Paul, MN, and our mail doesn’t just arrive – it makes an entrance. It comes straight into the house through a tiny door, which my dogs believe is either a magical portal or a daily home invasion. Like any respectable watchdogs, they lose their minds every single time. Occasionally, the mail carrier ups the excitement by slipping in a dog treat, which basically confirms their belief that this is the greatest system ever invented.

But honestly, I get just as excited. I love mail. Real mail. The kind you can hold. I have a friend who has faithfully sent me a Hallmark card for every possible occasion from birthdays to Easter, from Valentine’s Day to Christmas every year since we graduated college in 1994. That’s 32 years of cards! She even tracked me down in Madagascar, which feels both impressive and slightly magical. So yes, I check the mail with great anticipation. The dogs are hoping for snacks. I’m hoping for a card.

Sending Mail: With equal enthusiasm (and slightly less barking than my dogs), I love going to the post office. There’s something about the hustle and bustle—people juggling boxes, the smell of packing tape, the quiet confidence of a perfectly sealed envelope. It’s my kind of chaos.

Today I arrived with a collection.

First, thank-you cards. Because a friend took me out to celebrate my sabbatical (which deserves both gratitude and possibly a parade), and because I’m endlessly thankful for the amazing folks who serve in children, youth, and family ministry at church. Yes, I could have used the fancy church postage machine… but then I would have missed the joy of picking out real stamps.Priorities.

Next: books. In a few weeks, I’ll be in South Carolina and North Carolina leading workshops on my book Wiggles, Giggles, and Pokes: Kids in Worship, and since I actually have copies at home (a small miracle), I mailed some ahead. Let me just say: “book rate” shipping feels like getting away with something.

Then: Baby Book Club materials. Yes, this is a real thing, and yes, it is adorable. I wanted everything to arrive before Easter, little packages with a book, a toy, and a simple spiritual practice for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. Formation starts early, and also tiny toys make everything better.

Finally, a present for my mom. I got her an Easter gift of The Correspondent by Virginia Evans. If you haven’t read it, you should. Truly. Consider this your gentle nudge from the post office line.

Buying Stamps: This is oddly satisfying because it feels like choosing tiny pieces of art with a purpose. Each design carries a story—flowers, flags, holidays—and somehow turns an ordinary envelope into something thoughtful. There’s also a quiet sense of preparedness in having stamps on hand, like you’re ready for birthdays, thank-yous, or surprise notes at any moment. The small ritual of peeling and placing one in the corner feels intentional, almost ceremonial. In a world of instant messages, stamps slow you down just enough to make connection feel meaningful again. Plus, let’s be honest, when we line them up neatly it is its own simple joy.

And so, the post office remains one of my favorite places—a little chaotic, slightly unpredictable, and full of tiny moments of joy. Where else can you feel deeply accomplished for correctly choosing “book rate,” celebrate a perfectly placed stamp, and leave wondering if you just made someone’s entire day with an envelope? Also, let’s be honest, anytime you exit with fewer packages than you brought in, it feels like a win. Even the dogs would agree.