Work vs. Labor

When I think of Labor Day, I can’t help but think of Mom and Dad. They come to the forefront of images. . before Barbecues and picnics, American pride or Labor Day sales. They embody the reason the day is set aside.

Of course there are many people who punch the clock everyday. Fewer that enjoy their jobs and fewer still who have integrity performing them.  For a few decades my Dad rose before the sun with a thermos lunchbox and steel toed boots. He punched the clock and endeavored into a margin of the workforce where ethics and care to detail were still fundamental. There was no room for negotiation, no excuses of fatigue but instead he was the kind of man who took his faith with him and preformed for his family and I would venture to say, for God. His paychecks provided us a home, education, fun and full bellies. It was more than we needed and often deserved. Looking back at our few vacations, they lacked grandiose travel and shiny souvenirs. Instead they were trips to the lake where we’d camp and fish. Our family made memories that are my most precious treasures today and the best vacations a child could have! More importantly we were together. My Dad would tell you today “it was all we could afford then”. But even with the thickest of wallets, some fathers don’t compare to giving their children all that we were given. He loved me, believed in me, but more importantly – told me about it.  And he did this often on days when he punched the clock. Some people work. But not him, he labored.

Same can be said for my Mom. You see, any one can be a “mother”. A woman can give a kid some breakfast and ship ‘em off to school. She can make sure the child has decent clothes and an activity or two, throw some toys or vacations at them, maybe a day out together. But there’s few who might really talk to their child and then take a turn and listen. Fewer still that will assume the position as more than a title. . . but as a job to be done with intention. With integrity. There isn’t a clock-in and out time,  or uninterrupted lunch breaks or even a quiet drive to work. Well, maybe not a drive. . .

My Mom always got up at the crack of dawn. While thinking this rather foolish on her part, as a child it annoyed me. I’d think “it isn’t fair for someone who wasn’t a morning person, to have some happy, smiling face opening the blinds and coaxing you out of bed. All the while singing some stupid little tune she made up” which stuck in your head until recess that day! Sometimes I wondered if I was living inside Cinderella’s bedroom, just around the corner would be a pair of chirpy birds and merrily singing mice. Mothers. Misunderstood. Unappreciated. I understand now that she was the wheels that moved this machine….this family, this workplace called home. Combined with my Dad, they operated in sync. He provided the home and she worked hard to protect it. She made the breakfasts, packed the lunches, and prayed him off to work. She prepared the home for the morning that us kids would unknowingly partake in. Complete with daily notes of care and encouragement in our lunchboxes (yes, it’s true and they were embarrassing at the time). There’s a passage in Proverbs that describes a woman of noble character. As I’ve explored this over the years I admit I’ve struggled with bits and pieces but I’ve come a distance in my journey of understanding it.  One scripture in particular: “She gets up before dawn and provides food for her family. . .” (Prvb 31:15) Believe it or not – there IS some wisdom in this! My Mom didn’t sleep until she was ready to get up or haphazardly drag herself out of bed because she “just isn’t a morning person”. If she had, she'd be giving us her left overs . . . not her best. Of course, I don’t recall every morning as a child but in all my memories, I can’t remember when she told me that she was tired, or to go away so she could wake up. She could have easily turned on the ever-ready-babysitting TV, or had my brother entertain me with Nintendo and army men. But instead, she approached her days in the home with intention. Like other women who got dressed and went off to work, so did she. With prayer and integrity. It’s not an easy task. In a job your ethics are proven when no one is looking, when no one is around to jot down a potential bonus or praise in a quarterly newsletter. She read and colored and sang and talked and dressed up and decorated, was silly and talked some more – when she didn’t have to. She still does.  She did more than worked. She labored.

So here I am this Labor Day morning. I admit, I’m a bit hard on others at times thanks to my upbringing. I don’t have much pity for those who don’t work hard and I don’t respect those who complain about it when they do.  I try not to take my role as a mother passively.  Because in all reality what we create today either in the workplace or in people, is usually what we can expect to reap tomorrow.

When it’s my turn to pack my child’s lunch (because after all, this is a new day and age when the hubby gets to do some work around the home too) I try to slip a note in. It’s not everyday, but it’s often. I'll admit, I’m unsure on how to send notes to a first grader who is still learning to read but I’ll draw pictures or jot down something simple and then I'll wonder. . . how did my Mom do it?

Happy Labor Day.