I grew up as the "baby" of my family. I was the 1 of three sons, My brothers were five and seven years older than me and 2 most of the small routine tasks that my mom and dad needed to do around the house. I spent most of my time riding my bike, playing basketball, walking in the woods, or reading books by the 3 in the cold winter. I spent my 4 with all the fun and none of the responsibility.
By the time I entered my early teens, 5, both of my brothers had moved out of our home. My dad had injured his back seriously and become 6. Later, we moved to a mountain top house heated by a stove. I soon 7 that I did more work than I had ever done before. I 8 our garden in the spring and summer. In the fall I cut and piled wood up to keep us 9 in the winter. And all year round I 10 heavy containers of water from a mountain spring back to our 11 so that we could have water to drink and cook with.
At first I 12 and wasn't satisfied. After a while, I began to find 13 in helping my parents. I sang to myself while I piled wood up and smiled while I carried water. I14 found myself helping my mom with the dinner dishes and cleaning. I started to realize something that I would carry with me the rest of my 15 too: When your work is done in love, it isn't just work.
