Granted, this was a church not connected to my parents, that I’d chosen to attend on my own. I’m not sure what the whole transitioning from your parents’ mailbox must be like . . . it sounds like it could be tricky.

I feel the “mailbox madness,” too. For years, my church didn’t have mailboxes, partly because we didn’t have our own building. When we moved into our building a few years back, we used this wooden rack as the mailbox center. It was basically a bookshelf with more shelves. I can’t recall how long I shared a mail slot with my parents and four sisters, but it wasn’t interminable. I still lived with them, so it made sense.

Then someone realized the wooden shelf made it too complicated to add people in and take others out. We were getting an influx of people then, many of whom were college students whose parents attended elsewhere. They couldn’t be categorized under their parents.

So now we have this hanging file system. Your mailbox is a file with your name on it. I have my own file, as does my 21-year-old sister who lives with our parents and has no desire to leave. It may not look as pretty as a polished wooden bookshelf, but since when have Anabaptists enschewed the utilitarian? We now use the bookshelf for a more traditional purpose: holding books in the church library.

* a type of spiced meat-like substance, sold in cans
** some witnesses read: church bulletins