Each week there's a new revelation of insights into someone's inner life.
This week my sister discover a seemingly insignificant fact. The house my parents owned had a underground hand pump system to drain rain water under the house. Apparently my dad never bought a automatic pump - it was a hand pump.
I hurt a bit inside to realize an older man crawling under the house pumping water. To realize it was my father doing that stings. If my sisters and I knew we'd chip in for an automatic pump.
But before you think our dad who passed away was cheap he wasn't. Every single story of eating out, or gifts our dad would insisted on paying for everything. He never allowed his children to sacrifice for him. He had to sacrifice for us. Dad insisted on buying the candy for my sister's class. He insisted on paying the meals.
It reminds me of Peter cutting the ear off the Roman. Jesus had to heal it - there would be blood shed except His. One sacrifice would be glaringly blatant - the love of a God. The love of a Father.
For me, I realize more and more the meaning of sacrifice because my dad wasn't rich. He lived comfortably, but never an extravagant lifestyle. He was a simple man, who worked hard and loved his family.
It makes me reflect how much do those around us sacrifice for us? How much do I realize how much sacrifice was given for me?
It does bring a revelatory consideration of the amount of gratitude we must have. I find this world cynical, and afraid to be caught up in the 'I deserve this' attitude. My generation is so different from our parents where sacrifice was just a code of honor that was highly regarded.
Every good father sacrifices. I am won over and touched deeply about my father' sacrifice and the memory of it.