I have some precious friends that are passing along all their boy clothes to our son, David. Last night, I was going through the 2Ts to find some warm clothes for him and found these adorable coveralls. They are padded and warm, so they would be perfect for sleeping.
After I snapped him all up in those things, I had a flashback to my childhood. My father was a retired Army man (22 years) and worked as an aircraft mechanic/maintenance inspector. Every morning he was the first one up and out of the house (usually out of the driveway by 6:02, I think his alarm went off at 6:00). Every day he would zip on some of those blue coveralls. Do you know what I am talking about? They were long sleeved, long legged, zipped up to the neck. They came from Sears, and no amount of laundry soap could really get the grease smell off of them.
I know my dad worked long hours. At times during our childhood he worked two or even three jobs. He also did the yard work, cut firewood, cooked, cleaned, and taxied me everywhere. I was the baby of the family, so I was the last one at home with them for many years. In all my childhood years, I never heard my dad complain about hard work, about the lack of money, about medical bills, food bills, or about getting up for work and out the door so early. He often did not make a dinner plate first. He took what was left after mom and we kids had eaten. We would joke that dad would eat anything, but the fact is, sometimes the “least favorite” parts of everything were all that were left. Again, no complaints.
Now as an adult, I have to say I am not nearly as good as he was in this respect. I do not work the kind of hours he worked, I do not keep the kind of structure and schedule he kept, and I do get tired and (yikes!) sometimes grouchy. Those cute coveralls last night made me wonder what kind of memories my children will have of me from their childhood. I pray they remember the good things I did, and all my efforts. Maybe they will judge me based upon my best intentions, not my worst moments (yes, we all have them!). Maybe they will see how I prayed over them, sacrificed for them, rejoiced over them, cried over them, and was committing my way and their way to the Lord. I hope so.
Now I have married a man who also works hard. He does not do a physical labor type of job like my father did, but he is still often up and out of the house before the rest of us are dressed. David and I are often the only ones to see him leave for the day.
Praise God for husbands and fathers who are willing to just get up and do what needs to be done every day. Thanks, Dad!
