Thursday, August 18, 2011

He is my crock-pot.

I like listening to The News.
Current events fascinate me. . . now that you know this there will be no surprise when I say that this next post was inspired from something I heard on the radio.  A news stations none the less.

"Wealth cannot be cooked up in the Microwave.  
Wealth is cooked in a crock-pot.  
It takes lots of time and cooks slowly."

The world we live in expects everything for nothing.  I know that I am guilty of falling into that mentality.  It sounds great though doesn't it? A life with no worry or stress about bills and funds, but just the carefree lifestyle of having a never ending supply of means.  Who wouldn't honestly want that?  BUT wealth shouldn't just be something we happen upon, or in the words from the new anchor, 'wealth cannot be cooked up in the microwave."

This thought lead me to think of my father.
A man that works harder and longer than anyone I know.
When I was young I never had a bed time, if I did I wouldn't have been able to see my daddy.  See, Dad runs the family business.  He would leave before the sun would rise and then work well into the night.  I remember being asked as a little girl if I had a dad because my friends had never seen him.

My parents never fought over money.
The one thing they disagreed on though was time.
If my dad wasn't working at The Shop then he was fulfilling a church calling
or volunteering his time as an EMT or as a fireman.

My perspective of my father's time was very one-sided.
I was selfish.
I wanted more time with him.
I wanted him to focus on me. . . When the whole time he was.

Everything my dad does is for my sake.
Out of the love for my mother- their family, my family he sacrifices.

(My heart is pounding right now.  I have goose bumps.)

Sunday night I received a Father's Blessing.  Before each school year all the kids at home get one.  I can't imagine my life without the Priesthood power in my home.

My Dad.  A worthy and active Priesthood holder.

My dad is also the Bishop of my ward.  (gulp. It is true, I am the 'bishop's daughter')  Every Sunday I walk into church he is walking around the chapel shaking members hands and he always has a bold smile dancing across his face.  I see the light in his eyes and he shows his love to the members of our ward, then he turns to me.  We grasp hands and quickly pass a handshake our handshake across our interlocked fingers. I laugh, then sit down.

My Dad.  A leader.

Dad loves people.  Everywhere he goes he has a friend, and if they weren't friends before then they are now.  He is so good at relating to people and making them feel comfortable and at ease in his presence.

My Dad.  A friend.

I absolutely love it when my dad rough houses with my older brothers.  Dad is the worst at telling jokes, because he starts giggling before the joke is even told.  My dad laughs a lot.  I think he has "Santa Clause" cheeks- rosy and soft.

My Dad. A tease, he is funny. He laughs.

Since I live in a small town I am asked who my parents are when I introduce myself- especially when I introduce myself to people 40+.  When I tell them my father's name there are always good things to be said about him.  "He is a good man.  You have good blood.", "That Ferald, he knows how to work hard.", my personal favorite. "Ferald is your Daddy?! Good people this one."  My dad has helped so many people and I never realized the effect he has had on other people's lives until recently.  He is an amazing man.

My Dad. A lover. A provider. A help. A hard worker. A support.

My Dad. A Father. My Father.
I have good blood in me.
I am proud.

My thoughts process was all over.  I know, I thought about tying it all together, but I didn't want to.  
Instead I want you to enjoy the same path of thought I did, maybe it will take you on a different route.  I liked where I ended up.  

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