I felt terribly thankful. Almost painfully so if that makes any sense.
For the most part, parents are an under appreciated lot. I don't think you can fully "get it" until you are one anyway, and each year deepens my respect for my own.
Tonight I was walking in our yard, strolling past the neglected vegetable garden so overgrown with weeds you would think it had been way more than one season that we completely didn't try.
None of us are gardeners.
James, had he been born into another family, could have been. He is the only one of us so far with the patience said endeavor takes.
It occurred to me however, my father has never once, not ever, expressed disappointment in us over it. That is just amazing. And profoundly grace filled.
What I think he must know is that it is the being there. It's the being all there.
The tasks themselves don't actually have to be successful.
The fruit isn't in the garden.
It is housed in a weekend where all four grandchildren were equally delighted to spend time enjoying and helping them.
Honor your father and your mother, as the lord your God has commanded you ....