my dad
My father, Roy Seth, was an airline pilot who traveled the country and the world for nearly 40 years. Somewhere along the way, he developed a quiet habit whose impact I didn't realize until after he was gone.
He would buy postcards in whatever city he landed, write a simple unsigned message ("Be Encouraged, someone in Sydney, Australia is thinking of you"), and mail them to men he barely knew. No explanation. No signature. Just a reminder from halfway around the world that someone cared.
I thought I knew my father. But at his funeral, men I'd never met began standing up, one by one, to share their stories. They'd received postcards from Bangkok, from Tokyo, from cities across the Pacific. Always unsigned. Always with that same message.
My mom and I sat there, stunned. We had no idea.
These weren't casual acquaintances singing his praises. These were fathers struggling to show up for their kids. Husbands navigating broken marriages. Men walking through their own dark seasons who found courage in an unsigned postcard from a stranger.
The boldness they showed in standing up that day (declaring they'd been seen, been known, been encouraged) seemed to come from those postcards themselves. My father had given them permission to not be alone.
That's when I understood: sometimes the smallest, quietest gesture changes everything.
The last four months
When my father's cancer progressed to the point where we knew the end was near, he moved his motorhome onto the wooded property where I was living at Camp Casey. From there, he could look out over the Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains—a view that brought him peace.
My mom and I took turns sitting with him. I'd be there to assist in the evenings, on weekends, at lunch. Many of our friends came by to visit and to ultimately say goodbye. Yet we still sat there the rest of the days, navigating emotions, often alone.
Here's what's hard to admit: many of our friends and relatives didn't know how to show up during that time. I didn't know how to show up at that time. The awkwardness of terminal illness kept people at a distance, even when they cared deeply.
One day, a friend quietly dropped off a few cards with beautiful images and encouraging words. I put them up next to my father's bed. The wall he often faced when resting felt too drab, too heavy. Then I started printing more. Peaceful landscapes. Scripture. Reminders of hope. I hung them in the hallway, along the short path he walked.
The medications made him hallucinate sometimes, so I kept things light. I didn't talk about the cards much. I just quietly created small pockets of beauty in a season that was anything but.
One afternoon, as I was walking my father to bed, he couldn't make it all the way without stopping to catch his breath. He leaned against the wall, exhausted. His eyes fell on a card I'd hung there: a waterfall with scripture.
He rested there for a long moment, staring at that image. Then, after what felt like forever, he smiled. Just slightly. And finished the walk to his room.
Such a small thing. But in our mountain of discouragement, it was a victory.
WHY be encouraged exists
A visit with a friend lasts an hour, maybe two. But there are 22 more hours in a day when someone is facing a serious illness. Hours of suffering, of fear, of wondering if anyone remembers you're still here.
That's when tangible reminders matter most.
Be Encouraged was born from those final months with my father and the legacy of his unsigned postcards. It exists to help you show up for someone you love when you don't know what to say or send. When flowers feel wrong and words feel impossible.
Each box is thoughtfully curated with art from small independent artists. Cards they can hang on the wall when their hair is falling out. Keepsakes they can hold during treatment. Visual reminders that they are loved, seen, and not alone.
We don't offer false cheerfulness or empty platitudes. We offer presence. We offer beauty in hard places. And we offer the truth my father lived by: "It is well with my soul," even when circumstances aren't fine.
AN INVITATION
If this story resonates with you, I invite you to pass it on. Send a box to someone walking a hard road. Make their day, their path, their journey just a spark brighter.
Because sometimes, the smallest gesture is exactly what someone needs to take the next step. A postcard, a card on the wall, a box that says "You are not alone" or "I'm thinking of you."
With encouragement,
Robyn Seth Myers
Founder, Be Encouraged
A portion of every purchase supports cancer research in honor of Capt. Roy Allen Seth, USN (Ret).*
How to Encourage
Words of encouragement here
supportING those who support
​My father received care at Fred Hutch, where we saw remarkable compassion and life-giving research. In his honor, 5% from every box supports Fred Hutch and the families facing illness today.
