My husband doesn't like his job. It wasn't always this way, but it's been this way longer than he let on. He's a private guy. Doesn't see the point in complaining about what he perceives can't be changed. Looking to the positive. So then one day, it's too much, and it's clear - he does not like his job.
I don't blame him - I wouldn't like it, either. It's high stress, over-work, in a conservative culture when he's a radical guy at heart. He has to put on his stuffy clothes and an acceptable face, and push himself constantly to do hard and uninteresting things, to be what is needed all day, to earn the nice salary and the lifestyle to which we are accustomed. He does it so that I can continue my experiment in non-profit, earning half what I did to hopefully do more good. He carries the burden without complaint.
I've wondered how he gets through the day. And then, a few months ago, I found out. In a labyrinth of cubicles-cum-offices, I turned a corner into his little soul jar, and discovered...love.
His tiny office is a shrine to us. Kids' artwork crowds for space, photos leap smiles left and right. I saw mementos I'd given him and forgotten about, our wedding photo, my own face smiling encouragement and devotion. Every surface sports it's own tribute. He has built a shrine to our family's love, right in the heart of the dead-zone, to surround and protect him. He knows why he does it, and knowing that is what gets him through the day.
He loves us. He really loves us.
And I love him more than I knew was possible.
Happy Father's Day to the man I picked from among all men as the father for my children. I picked well. You're everything I hoped for, more than I knew to dream of, and every day I better understand just how lucky I am. Just how lucky we all are that you are the man of our house.