While clutching itineraries and agendas, he pulled along all that it is that makes a week behind him, quietly slipping into darkness before the day’s light.
The children, earlier in the week, noted the stark whiteness that began trickling over from office to home–a heap of scheduled meetings and travel logs that found their way upon kitchen counters, all which already plotted out his days. Days that would not be spent bustling about the heart of our home.
Leading up to departure, scattered signs and small piles began to accumulate throughout the house, marking where he has been and where he is going. All outwardly displaying that the week ahead will be played with a different rhythm.
They noticed, with anxious waiting, that this is what a loving father does for his children.
They understood that yes, Dad has to work for one whole week for me to be able to have this home full of warmth. It takes another 2 days to have a closet of clothes and shelves of books. And still 3 more days for me not to have to experience real hunger.
They noticed that he willingly gives up the better part of the day’s hours, even travels across the country, just so they are able to have the joys and comforts of this life.
Just hours before his leaving, disguised as piggy back rides and begging for just one more book, they relayed to him that they are ever so thankful.
As he tucked them into bed on the eve of departure, I noticed, with grateful pause, that just like the Father, he willingly and lovingly sacrifices of himself to provide for all that he has created.
It was on this morn, with a hug and kiss that whispered goodbye, that I knew that he, too, knows that I am ever so thankful.