Through tear-filled eyes, I kissed my strong man, watched him load up on the church van, and caravan away. Arms around my fabulous four, I whispered a silent praise to God for all that he is to this family.
"I hope Daddy has fun with the little children in India." This I hear from the back seat on the way to Friday school.
The correcting from a 9-year-old quickly springs forth from the farther back seat. "No, Daddy go to Haiti!" And then the 13-year-old chimes in, and soon we have a bantering ruckus of loud voices and no one can really hear each other anymore.
I have to smile.
Yes, I am so grateful for this man who flies off at least once a year to help the little children of Haiti, or India. I am so thankful for his example to our precious children. They believe this is his job, as much as putting on his uniform and heading out early each dawn and sometimes not returning until the next.
"My Daddy loves the little children, doesn't he Momma?"
I glance back at each of them in my rearview mirror, and smile large.
I am so thankful he loves the little children.
