Some days I measure time with how long it has been. Not in regret, but with memories of side-splitting laughter, amazing meals and building. Sure there were stressors, hurt feelings and sometimes unfulfilled dreams. Welcome to life. But that is the beauty of memories, I get to choose which ones I hold on to and replay. Today I imagine my Dad in his work shop hammering and sawing and creating. And that nail that went wrong and the cussing that came out of him in a very humorous way. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he was so happy while creating. I think that was the thing that gave him the most pleasure, besides his grand kids. Taking a piece of wood and fashioning a table or deacon's bench, a shelf, or chair. There is something magical about wood that roots you in the earth and I think Daddy knew that.
Today is the 22nd anniversary of my father's death. I miss him and I am sad that my kids never got to know him. Zech was born the next year, at the end of this month he will be 21.
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