The pain in my heart can’t be described as I watch this once-strong man with the most beautiful, loving heart cave to this world’s demands. Days of the week are confusing, nights are becoming days and a simple idea is hard to receive. This man lives in the shadow of what he once was, a protector and a provider for his family, and who he still wants to be.
It was more than digging his children’s cars out of the snow, tying the prettiest bows on his daughters’ dresses or teaching his son to be a man. It was being faithful, honoring and loving to his wife, refusing his children permission to talk back to her, always giving her worth and her place next to his.
After a long day on the road to see our grandson’s team play football, I said to our daughter, “These trips are getting harder on your dad. Sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, changing routines and expecting him to rise to the occasion is getting too much for him.”
Our youngest daughter, so perceptive to her daddy’s needs, said, “He loves to go with the family. We must help daddy keep his dignity. That’s the most important thing we can do.”
I remember when our children were babies and my Sweet Al declared his favorite scripture to the church’s congregation, “… As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15b, NKJV).
Al is a man of his word. He kept his word and is still keeping his promise to his home after all these years. This man has labored for his family for 65 years, and with a strong back and stronger principles, he did all he could to give us a secure home, food on the table and serve His Lord, Jesus.
When I received an article from my good friend, Eli Lucero, about an old adobe house in Pintada, N.M., it was as if he was writing about my Sweet Al and his own father, Robert. And to any man who knows what it is to be a husband and father, and what is expected of him. These words are for them.
Eli’s words are a metaphor of what it means to give a man his worth and dignity. He talked about an old adobe and his culture as a Spanish man, but my heart read between the lines, and I see my Sweet Al as a man who loves his family and still testifies of his belief.
“The adobe walls of Pintada do not merely crumble. They testify. They are scripture written in earth and straw, in calloused hands and weary backs. They remember the covenant our ancestors kept with dust, with drought, with hunger, with time.
“This was the Law of Work. Unyielding. Absolute. To labor was not choice but commandment. To rest was betrayal. To refuse was exile.
“I was raised on its stories hard, sharp as winter wind. Tales of the one who would not bend to the fields and was tied to a tree until he yielded. Cruel to our ears perhaps, but to them it was justice. For without obedience, there was no survival. Without work, there was no tomorrow.
“These walls are their monument. Every brick laid in sweat and grit. Every room echoing with breath fought for, and nights endured.
“Their law kept them alive. Their law delivered me here. And yet, one day I sat in a chair, a simple chair, a La-Z-Boy recliner and felt the weight of centuries pressing against my chest. The Law of Work still whispered: rise, toil, prove your worth. But in the silence, I understood.
“Their labor was not meant to bind me forever. Their sacrifice was the down payment on my freedom. Their obedience was the foundation. My life is the cathedral.
“So I labor still but with fire, with flour, with words, with light. I build not only for survival, but for meaning, for beauty, for legacy.
“Their song lives in me, but its verses have changed. The adobe will return to dust. But their story will not. They gave us survival. We must give them remembrance. They bore the Law of Work. We bear the gift of life.” — Eli Lucero, storyteller, master chef and son of his culture.
This clay house my husband lives in is breaking down one brick at a time. The windows of his soul are getting dim, his roof can’t hold the onslaught of changing weather, and his footing is wobbly. Yet, he remains as a testimony of what a man truly is.
There is so much more to this man I love than what is seen from the outside. The fire in his belly still burns hot to keep his children warm and safe. His desire for better things for his family is still heard by his few-fought-words of wisdom.
Final brushstroke: Yes, my Sweet Al still deserves the honored place at the dining room table. Now, to give a man the dignity he deserves, we must serve him with love and kindness and all we have. I hope we have many more days left to give back to the one who loved us unconditionally and gave us himself. He stands, not as a clay adobe, but a cathedral of God’s grace and love.
Readers’ comments: “Thank you for all your inspiring articles in the Pagosa Sun. I was especially moved for your advice to your Grandson to focus on Jesus, not the movement. It’s so easy to get side tracked with other’s opinions, and appreciated the grounding reminder. Keep those great articles coming!
“Victoria Coleman, Pagosa.”
Views expressed do not necessarily represent those of The SUN.
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