In honor of Father’s Day, I’m dedicating this post to the firefighter.
Friday evening the firefighter called to me to join him outside. He was so excited to share something. I rushed out to find him gazing at the moon rising. The moon was gianormous and red. Blood red. We could hear a pack of coyotes howling in the distance, their voices a chorus of tortured angry souls desperate for blood and feasting. To our west a violent thunderstorm was rapidly approaching, the sky lit up by the crimson moon and the flashes of lightning. It was all so eerily still and quiet except for the feral screaming.
Suddenly, the wind picked up and a haze of dust descended and enveloped us as a final warning for us to seek safety from impending doom. The toads hopped in a frenzy of confusion and fear, the june bugs and moths apocalyptic in number, like an old testament plague pregnant with foreboding and warning. The electricity flickered, the weatherman stuttered, the lightning flashed, the thunder echoed and the coyotes no longer warned us of their proximity. It was all so wild and angry, as if nature knew the date, that dreaded 13 emblazoned next to Friday. Yes, it was Friday the 13th.
As I regaled my mother with the thrilling tale of our frightful evening spent living in the wild, I noticed she was grinning an eye-roller’s grin of suppression.
“What’s so funny??”
“Well, your husband just finished telling me about the beautiful evening y’all had last night, watching the moon rise and the thunderstorm roll in.”
The firefighter is the calm in my storm. The gentleness in my furor. He is love for the unlovable, and joy for the grouchy. He is the hardest working, least dramatic person I know. If ever there is a need he will move mountains to try to meet it.
He encourages our kiddos to get good and dirty and he doesn’t sweat the small stuff. If it were up to me, I’m afraid our children would only play with sand that was wrapped in plastic for the tactile development (plus, hey, no baths necessary!). I’m afraid I would miss the point of childhood because I was so wrapped up in motherhood. He doesn’t plan every detail because he is faithful to live in the moment. I plan too many details and can fall apart when everyone has to poop at the same time. He invests so much time and effort in all the facets of loving and raising a family, and he does not take any aspect of it lightly.
He is adored and adoring and sometimes that adoration is totes adorbs. When I get our two year old dressed and ready, she immediately checks her appearance in the mirror. She looks from head to toe before approving. When any part of her outfit is new she practically runs to the mirror. A few months ago, I dressed her in an adorable new outfit so I called to the firefighter to come watch her do this. I set her down so she could run to the mirror, instead she walked over to her daddy, and looked up. He grinned down at her and in a gush of affection said, “Oh my goodness, you are beautiful!” She grinned, lifted her arms, and he picked her right up. She never looked in the mirror. She didn’t need to. Every affirmation she needed was in her daddy’s delight.
May it ever be so.
We are blessed to love and be loved by this man. Happy Father’s Day!