8 a.m. Monday morning: Unlock the doors and disable the alarm. The phone has already started its steady stream of siren, right next to the continuous tirade of text messages. Four projects inside. Five outside. Half a dozen down the street and a house full of need when the workday closes…16 hours later. Necessity has taught him to manage and multitask at the speed of an 8-second drag car.
And here I sit, musing. How does he handle the condescending customers alongside the delayed deliveries? Who can he call when the toilet backs up and the two-hundred dollar tool transmutates? When the wolf is at the door and the wife is wanting more, he has but one final ace tucked into his core. His name is Jehovah Jireh – the Lord God, Our Provider.
One day I will accomplish my long-promised task to capture the candid images of him in his versatility and hang them side by side on the shop wall. The titles will read, “Performance Specialist,” “Parts Guy,” “Courier,” “Secretary,” “Diagnostician,” “Custom Fabricator,” “Plumber,” “Electrician,” “Sales,” “Service,” “Mechanic,” “Researcher,” “Developer,” “Welder,” “Tuner,” “Ordering,” “Bookkeeper,” “Finance Coordinator,” “Public Relations Specialist,” “Owner,” etc…
On the top row will hang the most important titles of this (literally) breaking-his-back boss:
Until that undertaking materializes (and it will materialize because all the wild and ridiculous dreams of Loriland eventually come true,) please join with me in praying for the overworked and under-appreciated stunt man I call Poorboy. He is surely a son of God; a one in a million diamond in the rough. Help this very good man never fail to remember his need for the greatest man: Jesus Christ.