He measures the hours of his day by the place of the sun in the sky and the worth of his work by the progress he’s made, but his work day knows no clock out time. The work he does is not beneath him, considering it an honor to work with his hands. When he sets about his job, he works carefully and thoroughly. He respects the tools and machinery he uses, he isn’t careless with them. Every time he does use one, he thinks about us and what would happen if he ever got hurt.
But my favorite part about my manual labor man are his hands.
His hands are rough and calloused from years of hard work, but still just so gentle with my fragile soul. These are the hands that have held me tenderly in bed and have held my legs back in labor and held my hands on the operating table. These hands that have held our babies and rocked our scared toddlers. These hands that still reach into the darkness and under the pillow for mine every time I come back from answering a middle of the night cry.
And at night as I watch this man sleeping next to me, his chest rising and falling in the darkness, the cuts and bruises that line his arms, I am absolutely undone. What a gift it is to share this sacred space with someone I love so deeply; to have someone who works so physically hard for our family.
My man makes his way in this world by the sweat of his brow and the strength of his back. And I’ve never been so proud.
“And as for the decent job, now, that’s something else. Any job a man can do to make his way in this world is a decent job as long as he works hard at it and does his best. You know, God didn’t put sweat in a man’s body for no reason. He put it there so he could work hard, cleanse himself, and feel proud. Don’t you ever forget that.”
– Charles Ingalls in Little House on the Prairie, Season 2 Episode 1, “The Richest Man in Town.”
This post was originally published on Lauren’s Facebook Page, From Blacktop to Dirt Road.
