For you Dad. Because Lord knows, I am not very good at this. The big meal with new recipes that I haven't tried. The dietary restrictions, no gluten for mom, no sodium for dad. Plus, the bunny suit I'm wearing as I hop on down the bunny trail of baskets and eggs and peeps, ever mindful of the real celebration waiting for us at church.
I would have quit several times over if I didn't have an end goal in sight. So, when the turkey leaked all over the fridge... yes, it dribbled down the the back and pooled around the food in the crisper in the bottom, even though I had a bag around the turkey... ugh... a bag... with a hole... yes even then, I didn't quit. For you Dad.
Plus in the very middle of trying not to spatter my church clothes with turkey guts and figuring out how to clean it all up... Nolan asked for the seventeenth time, "Can I go play with Riley now?" Seventeen times I've said no... yet he lives to ask again, but just barely. I feel myself slipping into oblivion because no matter how quickly I seem to throw that juggling ball back up, it comes round again before I am ready for it. So not good at this. My composure cracks.
So as I am brewing up tension, and drama and mess, and why am I putting my inept self through this again? I think of Dad. Because I see the effort he is making. His fingernails are white as he grips his cane getting out of the car. His heart is not able to pump blood all the way to his extremities anymore. I watch him labor up the steps, willing his weakened body to go where his strong will wants it to. If only he could get it to cooperate. He is purple in the face by the time he gets in to sit down, but its purple, with a smile. A grin really, that spreads from ear to ear. He is lively, engaged and appreciative.
As we sit down, some of the storm raging within me, settles and dissipates. As we say a quick blessing, I am reminded not just of the fact that He is risen, but of the victory on the cross. My sacrifices are small.
For you Dad.