Letter 16 • The Day Still Arrives
“She finally let go and allowed herself to revel in the simple joy of the moment.”— The Filling Station by Vanessa Miller
Dear Reader,
It’s been several months since I first read this book, but as my birthday month was approaching, the story found its way back to me.
I start thinking about how the lives of sisters Evelyn and Margaret were forever altered by the 1921 Tulsa Massacre. How they moved forward, carrying different hopes—one looking toward the future and the dreams she still hoped to claim, the other intent on restoring what had been taken from their home and their community in Greenwood.
And somewhere in the middle of all that loss, a birthday appears.
One sister wants to keep the day quiet, careful not to ask for more than what has already been given. The other wants the day to be noticed. Not extravagantly. Just acknowledged. Even knowing it can’t look the way birthdays once did.
That difference stayed with me.
Because birthdays don’t wait for calm. They arrive whether life feels settled or not. They ask something small of us, only that we decide whether to let the day pass unnoticed.
One sister chose restraint.
The other chose joy.
Not because everything is okay, but because the day was still hers.
Reading those scenes reminded me that sometimes, in the middle of chaos, a birthday becomes a pause. A moment to take stock. A quiet decision to remember what we still have hold of—even if it’s just the fact that we’re still here.
Maybe celebration doesn’t always look like candles or cake.
Maybe sometimes it’s simply saying, This day matters.
If this letter finds you in a season that feels heavy, I hope you find a way to mark the day anyway. Gently. In your own way.
And if it happens to be your birthday, too, may you let yourself revel, even briefly, in the simple joy of the moment.
This letter was inspired by the book The Filling Station by Vanessa Miller
Short Content Brew
This story holds a tragic moment in history, but it never asks you to carry it alone. As you follow the sisters through loss and uncertainty, the focus slowly shifts from what was taken to what remains—dreams, determination, and the people who help steady them along the way.
It’s the kind of book that reminds you that even in the darkest seasons, there can be moments of light. Not because the situation is easy—but because kindness, care, and community refuse to disappear.
The Cup We’d Share
Here’s to a brew for conversations that don’t need a destination—just room to unfold.
A Sip of Steady Ground
Tea Blend: Rooibos + Honeybush + Vanilla
Flavor Note: Warm, steady, and a hint of sweetness—this cup doesn’t rush you. It offers comfort without distraction, reminding you that even after upheaval, there can still be something grounding to return to.
Reflection:
Where in your life do you need a moment to pause and take stock instead of pressing forward?
What would it look like to honor where you are—without asking yourself to be “over it” yet?
Why This Letter?
This letter surfaced now for two reasons.
First, I’m from Oklahoma. I was raised a little over an hour from Greenwood, yet for much of my early life, I had no real understanding of what happened there—or how deeply it shaped our communities. At the time, I was focused on the immediacy of growing up. But as the saying goes, when you know better, you do better. I was recently reminded of a line attributed to Harry S. Truman: “There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know.” Returning to this story felt like an invitation to keep learning—and to keep remembering.
Second, it’s my birthday month. This year holds a lot of excitement for me, and I’m grateful for that. But this story also reminded me that not every birthday has looked—or will look—the same. Some arrive quietly. Some arrive in the middle of upheaval. And still, they ask to be acknowledged in whatever way we can.
This letter lives at the intersection of those two truths: learning to hold history more honestly, and learning to honor the passage of time—even when it’s complicated.
That’s the sip I’ll leave you with today.
Thanks for reading—until the next letter.
P.S. If this letter made you pause or look twice, feel free to pass it along. Or leave a note in the comments—I always love hearing what lingers.
