Quiet Sacrifices, Loud Love

I don’t know if this story will mean much to you. But it meant everything to us.

Thank You Dad

This picture is stuck to our fridge. The corners are a little creased, the colors are a little smudged, and the sky is only half blue because the crayon probably ran out. Four stick figures stand in the middle under a tilted sun. They all smile, but one of them is taller, has bigger arms, and doesn't smile any more. She called him "Daddy."

It also says "My daddy doesn't give up" at the very top, but the writing is all over the place.

That sentence. It made me stop.

My daughter, just five, had drawn it quietly at the dining table while her little sister was crawling under the chairs like it was some kind of secret cave. No big fuss, no loud moment. She just walked over, handed it to him, and said,

“This is you.”

After giving her that warm, ired smile he always does, he looked at it for a second. She didn't say much, she just took a magnet and put it on the fridge like it was holy. And to be honest, it is.

That drawing on that one piece of paper tells you more about him than I ever could.

My husband isn't a loud person. He doesn't like to give long speeches or talk about how he feels. He gets up before any of us does, sneaks out the door before the sun even comes up, and works for hours on end just to keep this house running.

He never says bad things.

Even though his shoes are worn out. In case the bills are bigger than expected. Even when he gets home and is so tired he can hardly see. He still comes. He still plays tea party. Still reads bedtime stories with funny faces and voices. Still tucks the girls in with a kiss and a soft "Daddy's here."

It's the kind of love that doesn't make itself known.

I remember that this week, everything was tight. Bills were slowly going up and groceries were running out. I was quietly freaking out while trying to make dinner last. I told him we'd figure it out. He just gave a nod. That's how he tells you not to worry. "I got it."

He came home with food the next day. Not very fancy, but just enough to keep us going. When I asked him how, he brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal. I learned after the fact that he didn't eat lunch at work all week.

He never brought it up. Never asked for praise.

That's what he is. He gives up something in the quiet.

Don't pay attention, and you might miss it. The little things. Because they fix things around the house, their hands are cracked. He eats a little less so the kids can have more. Because we can't pay for a repairman, he stays up late looking up how to fix the washing machine.

A lot of people talk about what love looks like. They think of roses, dates, and gifts that come as a surprise. But love in our house looks like jeans with holes in them, lunches that are packed, and hugs after a long shift.

What do you know? That is something I would never trade.

The loudest kind of love is the kind that keeps showing up and giving even when there's nothing left to give.

Our girls might not fully get it yet. But they will one day. Men will remember the man who gave everything and didn't ask for anything in return one day. The man who didn't give up when things looked like they were going to fall apart. The guy who held our little world together and still had time to be their hero.

And maybe no one will ever know outside of this house. It's possible that no awards or praise will be given.

But he is everything in this house.

And the drawing on the fridge, which was made with crayons, love, and hope, says it all.

"My daddy doesn’t give up."

No, little girl. He doesn't really. We're so lucky that he never did.