Some years ago my mom told me something about my dad I'd never known before. When I was a kid and dad came home at the end of the day, after he had given himself wholeheartedly all day long, his blood sugar was low, and so forth, after parking the car in the garage, as he walked up the back steps, as his hand reached out to open the backdoor, at that instant before he stepped back into the family circle, he shot up a prayer to God for a little burst of extra energy: "Lord, help me right now to go in there and give myself to my dear family!" Then he would walk in, sweep my mom up in his arms and kiss her -- and I don't mean a little peck on the cheek but I mean a borderline-embarrassing kiss on her mouth -- and then he would turn to me and say, "Hey skip, want to wrestle?" Then we'd go out to the front room, get down on the carpet and wrestle and tickle and play and hug and have fun.
I can't remember one time when my dad walked in the door with nothing to give us. He had something to give every day. God answered his simple prayer.