Hard Work

I love working with my hands.

It's true.  Every (well almost every) Saturday, I get up way too early.  I stop at the Quik Trip to pick up coffee and breakfast.  I see handfuls of laborers getting their morning pick-me-up.  Plumbers, drywallers, electricians.  People who work with their hands.  Work hard.

I work hard, too.  I build houses.  Although I do this only once a week, these guys do it every day.  They work hard.  I work hard once a week.  I work hard because I want to.  These guys I see every Saturday; they work hard because they have to.   They work hard because they want a better future, for themselves and for their families.  They toil in the blistering hot sun.  They work in the dead of winter.  And I have a world of respect for them.

I love working with my hands.  I love getting dirty.  I love working so hard and sweating so much I smell so bad even my mom would have a hard time letting me into the house.  I do it because it's fun. I learn.  I work out my aggressions.  It's my gym, what little of it I attend.  And when I get home, I relish the feeling of exhaustion I have worked up that day.  On Sunday I rest.  On Monday I return to my office job.  My air conditioned office job.  With a chair.

But these laborers I see at the Quik trip every Saturday morning?  On Monday, they just go back to the exhausting work I do for fun, one day a week.  They do it every day.  These laborers literally build our country.  I have a world of respect for them.  You should, too.

http://www.atlantahabitat.org