I believe in hard work. I have my Dad to thank for this. He raised a very large family, we were on the bottom of the totem pole as far as financial class. But through his hard work we grew, we flourished, we survived, even when out table was full, he made room for strangers and friends alike.
I am no stranger to hardship. I have almost died twice on operating tables, I have been unemployed, I have felt great tragedy. One sibling has allready succumbed his life to the ravages of cancer and another is fighting to be a survivor.
Survivor. I used to believe this was a bad word. But through hard work work I have learned it can be a badge of honor. I worked hard to recover from all my surgery’s, I fought the strange feelings that can embrace a woman when she is thrown into menopause at age 28. I survived a short separation from my spouse with no net to soften my fall.
We were able to reconcile. This too was hard work. Learning that behaviors from our past were not tools we could use to create a future.
The hard work my husband and I have done has given us great treasures. A welcome home, a savings account, wonderfull friends, great memories. Certainly, there have been times when it would have been easier to give up, stay down, wait for someone else to solve my problems. But I could always hear my fathers voice, his little witicisms, “steak is tougher when you don’t have any.” I can eat steak now, and savor it’s tenderness and flavor.
I work hard to keep my house clean because as he would say, ” a clean house is a warm house.” (Even though as children we believed the dirt perhaps kept the drafts out.)
I believe that work can be hard, and also it’s own reward. I believe in not giving up, in reaching for one’s bootstraps.
I believe there is a better day to come from all my hard work.
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