Dad was bent over, pencil in mouth, measuring tape in hand. He was calculating the length of trim needed to finish off one of my cupboards in my new kitchen. I patted him on the back and said, “you’re the best, papa,” as I headed off to church Sunday night.
The thing is, he should have been home taking a nap and watching football because for the previous three days and four nights he had done nothing but help me. I closed on my townhome last week, and while I was at work (on deadline and unable to take time off), dad was in my new place, having taken vacation days, painting my kitchen and bathroom. I didn’t even go and buy the paint. All I had to do was pick out the swatch. He also rented a carpet cleaner to clean all my carpets. He was there Wednesday night, Thursday day, Thursday night, Friday day, Friday night, trying to prepare the place for moving in on Saturday. Then Saturday day and night, he along with the rest of my family helped me move in and unpack. So Sunday definitely should have been kept holy. He should have just watched Favre like I know he really wanted to, but instead he called to say he was coming back over to do more projects.
Then Monday, on his regular day off, guess what? He was back at my place, painting a door, and hanging things I had asked him to hang (I made him a list and had pre-marked the wall.) And I assure you, he is not done. He’s got more projects. Some of which he’s good at and likes to do, but others, well, I just need ‘em done, and he’s my dad, and he’s going to do them for me because he's so great.
I cannot thank my dad enough. I cannot repay him. I mean, I’ll write the check out to him and compensate him for the paint and the other gajillion things he bought, but that really is not repaying him. To be shown such giving love, to be served so consistently and expected to give nothing in return is hard to accept. It’s hard, I think, because I know I don’t deserve it. And it’s hard too because I can’t give it all back. At least not right now. I was sharing this phenomenon with a friend at work. She is a mom of children about my age, and she smiled and said, “they” (my parents, because really mom is included in this, just in different ways)…anyways, she said, “they must really love you or something.” I smiled back. She said that’s what parents do.
It’s a lot like my relationship with God. I mean, what I can give him, is just pitiful. And yet he just gives and gives and loves and loves. He fixes me up, paints me all clean, hooks up my wires when they get crossed, tightens my lightbulbs. I often have this weird mix of feelings as I consider God...superbly inadequate, but so thankful. helpless and humbled, but determined to say thank you as many times as possible, even if they're weak thank yous.
Anyways, Dad went home yesterday but then he came back over later last night to hook up my wireless internet. When he left, I thanked him (lamely) and he smiled and said he’d be back.
He must love me or something. I love him too.
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