“How is the work on the house going?” my mom asked when she called. I looked at the sawdust covered floor of the house we had worked at from dawn till muscular collapse and sighed at the doors that needed installing and the wood trim that needed painting.
“It’s a lot of work,” I said.
“Will you be ready to move in on time?” she asked.
“I really hope so.”
“Do you want to borrow Dad?”
“Is that an option? How fast can he get here?”
Since my parents are what I call professional helpers, it is hard to keep track where they are or what they are doing. A few years back they sold their house and all they owned and began traveling to places that needed help. They have volunteered to cook for the firemen in Colorado who were putting out the wildfires. They have helped towns torn apart by tornadoes. They have prepared beds and food for missionaries just arriving from overseas, and they have filled a container with supplies for refugees. But, two short days after the phone call with my mom, my dad arrived ready to paint, saw, nail, and clean.
Dave Kennedy. Saving my life since 1970.