“Well, they did as we asked — some of the clutter in their bedrooms is gone,” my husband commented this week as we surveyed two piles of bagged items — some intended for the thrift store and others labeled “attic.”

“Looks like some of this stuff is just too precious to give away,” he remarked as he set up a ladder below the opening to our attic. “Is all of this is worth keeping? I’m in a move-it-out-of-here mode!”

When the kids indicated the bagged items were all treasures, the attic door was opened. One child held onto the ladder to steady the wiggle and I stood on the next-to-highest rung to hold the flashlight and watch as Matt crawled around our chilly, dusty attic. When we realized our stash needed some reorganizing in the light of day, some of the boxes not specifically labeled were lowered down into the family room for a closer look.

Consolidation was the order of the day as we repacked house decorations and childhood treasures. Old tax returns no longer needed were shredded and some items once too precious to give away were moved into the piles headed for the thrift store. Guess our idea of what can be donated is changing.

The most intriguing boxes were those labeled “childhood” in my dad’s handwriting and I was curious, for it had been years since I’d looked inside. My husband indulged my need to reminisce and lowered them down for a closer look. These boxes, holding items my dad chose to box for me held childhood treasures he thought I would appreciate as an adult.

His choices were wonderful. There were dried wrist corsages from high school dances. My first driver’s license. School papers I thought represented my best work at the time. A fabric sample of the flower power bedspread my grandmother sewed for me. Report cards. Classroom pictures. Figurines collected to help me remember summer family vacations.

I was certain my pleasure could not be matched until I opened a box labeled “family correspondence — college years.” And while all the letters hold great value to me — especially the way they recall events I had forgotten about and might never have remembered without their prompting — there is one bundle of letters of particular significance to me. They are letters from my dad.

I treasure everything about those letters, just as I did 25 years ago when I was a young college student. Only today my appreciation is more profound, for I am a parent and value the depth of feeling behind his words. In this day of e-mails, I find that holding the letters and seeing Dad’s familiar scrawl touches me deeply. As I read through the letters I enjoy the mental image of him sitting at the kitchen table, sometime during the evening after work, pouring out heart and soul onto the stationary because he knew his thoughts were safe with me. Even back then Dad knew I would appreciate his distinctly sentimental tone.

“You have been away to school about 10 days now and I am missing you greatly already,” Dad wrote on Sept. 27, 1977. “My knowledge that you are doing what you have wanted for so long and what your mother and I take as our pleasure in helping you to do makes our first real separation bearable but not easy. I miss your cheery “hello” but take pleasure in the circumstances that you take from us.”

When I wondered if I could manage a part-time job as a dorm resident advisor and attend school fulltime Dad wrote:

“If you want to do something worthwhile in life you must be a risk taker and not be afraid of failure. History is full of examples of people who failed many times before they achieved a worthwhile and outstanding goal.”

His powerful words of encouragement take on new meaning to me, all these years later as I read and ponder his wisdom. Not only am I encouraged to pursue some goals I have set for myself this new year, but I have vowed to write more letters and send more e-mail messages to those I love and care about (storing a hard copy of the more noteworthy correspondence or it will disappear into cyber space, lost for ever).

Let’s also stop at some point this week and thank God for the wisdom and encouragement He hands us, each and every day, through people and circumstances. And may we make it a point to use words that may bless the people in our lives this week, never doubting that faithful sentiments can and will impact our world, now and into eternity.