Where I am from

This job we do--raising a family-- has so many ups and downs, and twists and turns,that I often feel I have lost my way.

Is this work really making a difference?
Does it really matter if I go the extra mile--when I just feel like turning back?

Each day raising a family brings its own challenges, decisions, reactions.
Words and actions that shape us.
All these things make up our childrens' memories.
The long long stories that make up their lives.
They can not remember them all so we can only hope they remember the best.
(but we all know they don't)

My guy Max wrote a simple little piece a few years back that I keep right beside my computer and when I'm ready to say just screw it--it's all just too much work--they could care less....

I read the words this quiet guy wrote:

Where I come from

I am from cuts and bruises,

from church polos and dirt covered t-shirts.

I am from loud, chaotic family dinners.

(laughing and objects banging it sounds like a horrible choir)

I am from the smell of the salty ocean,

the sound of the pine trees swaying in the warm summer breeze.

I am from Louis Armstrong and "big happy families"

from teasing older brothers and obnoxious aunts, and big Ole' Dave,

from new beginnings and never ending friendships.

I'm from Santa Claus and the tooth fairy,

From our father, who art in heaven...

I'm from a small tan house, and too many desserts.

From the big red suburban and yellow bathing suits,

From inappropriate jokes, thanks Dad.

I'm from picture frames on the wall,

From filling that space in each other hearts.

Thank you Max

It Is worth it...