Back in the days before the Internet, letters were a decidedly more enduring form of communication. Now with blogs it’s easy to see archives hanging around in theory forever. But somehow more seems less. More email doesn’t carry that same touch or feel - maybe because it’s all been depersonalised into Arial or Times New Roman. With letters that you’d receive once a week or even once a month, you’d be quite happy reading, or rereading them a dozen times. Blog posts don’t have that kind of longevity, understandably, nor email. Unfortunately the only things that come through mail nowadays are bills and sales flyers - and all of them are ironically trying to sell that personal touch.

My Dad’s passing me a bunch of letters, poems my grandfather wrote to my grandmother. He was a librarian and very well read so they must be quite literary. So they’ve been ‘bequeathed’ to me and I suppose I’ve got to take on the baton and do something about family history. I’ve never been a big writer myself as I’ve always liked to say more with less, acting as critic rather than creator (though it’s also true critics write voluminously more on a single point than most authors intend). Here are some ideas I’ve been considering anyhow.

Idea 1: If they’re substantial enough, perhaps they’d be worth publishing with some of Dad’s stuff and mine, as a Khoo family anthology. [four stars]

Idea 2: Develop them as a base for a song and then record matthew in backing vocals as an intergenerational piece. [two stars]

Idea 3: Reconstruct a ’story’ with Dad’s input and turn it into a digital story of family history. I’ve always relied on uncles and aunts to do this: guess it’s time to pitch in. [three stars]

Meanwhile, I’m glad Firefox 3 has finally arrived. Great new predictive URL function and nicely resized backbutton. Let’s see if it proves more stable with Google Apps. Makes me wonder when Opera’s going to roll out the next major upgrade. For all of us waiting for that perfect browser it doesn’t seem so far away now.

The theme for Sunday Sharing this week is ‘What I remember most about Dad’.

“And there where cold winds howl into the mist of morning, fresh with autumn change, and leaves scurry on to warmer domains: in those mulled moments ensconced by family and fireplace, we remember all.” (Life beside the River by Thomas Crooke)

With dad, there’s always the expression of faith to remember. My dad grew up in a Christian home but never encountered God until middle life - and it wasn’t because of a crisis - just a deep encounter with God one day in a meeting. The significance of a personal faith was something I learnt in the many father-son sharing times we had, casual, instructive, sometimes too well-worn, yet heartfelt. There I also learnt to listen to heart and not just words; love, not just well-meaning intentions.

The faith I recall was of personal encounter that led to a life journey of seeking God. For him this meant leaving a job he had trained half his life for as a chartered surveyor, joining a church, then becoming a pastor, then later a missionary. In these transitions what I remember most is a deep humility and purposed conviction that there is more in life in what we can’t see than in what we can. A 200% universe that is underscored with purpose, meaning and design if we cared to look and if we dared to see. The point was, the cost is easy to calculate when you can see what you’re losing out: money, pleasures, prestige. But it’s the cost you can’t see, the possibilities in the other 100% of the unseen universe that can make life unsettlingly unfulfilled: the incalculable unknown potential of what’s missed, or lost, or left unclaimed.

And where the recollection of conversations meld into that expression of faith, it’s turned into a challenge to build something of greater significance. A legacy Mikayla and Matthew might themselves remember as something to treasure. Thanks Dad!