My dad was an Irish bricklayer. His father and grandfather before him had been bricklayers, too. It’s a tough job lifting bricks all day, many times bent from the waist for hours, and usually in the hot sun.
But when the project was done my dad could stand back with the crew and admire the beautiful brick building that would stand firm for over a hundred years.
Laying brick isn’t for wimps but being the bricklayer’s slave, a Hod Carrier, is even worse. The Hod Carrier has one of the hardest jobs in the world. Lugging piles of bricks without breaking them, mixing mortar and cleaning up the site, the Hod Carriers are the concierges of the construction world and the scum of the earth at the same time. They fetch ANYTHING the King Bricklayer requests and bricklayers LOVE to put the Hod Carriers through their paces. Often practical jokes are played on the poor unsuspecting youths who, at first, want nothing more than to please their boss. The job is like a never-ending fraternity Hell Week… at least until a new guy comes along. If these lowly men are tough and survive the torment, they could request to learn the bricklaying trade themselves and move up a notch in the food chain.
My dad's lifestyle reflected the tough, hard drinking, foul-mouthed Irish bricklayer stereotype. Sharp as a tack and with a wit about him, my dad, the Shark, could count cards, remain stone-faced and wipe the poker table with his opponents. He was a tenacious scrapper because he had to be. It was a matter of survival. That’s the way it was.
As a child he was orphaned and homeless during the great depression. He wandered the streets by himself at age eight looking for the usual things…food and a place to sleep. He became a tiny businessman retrieving outdated bags of potato chips from the dumpster and selling them on the street. He once threw a rock through a store window just so he could get arrested and spend time in a warm bed. About this time he was taken in to an orphanage but he hated it so much that he eventually ran away. He'd rather be on the streets.
One day my dad came across a gentleman working in his garden and stood there for a while watching. (He was probably conspiring how he could steal some food.) When the Man looked up and saw this filthy kid staring at him, he was not repulsed, but instead, was filled with sympathy. The Man was able to look past the surface grime and into heart of that ragamuffin child. I’m not sure of all the details, but soon afterward, the Man requested legal guardianship and my dad was invited to stay.
Dad was made to go to school again. In fact he was pushed to complete 2 grades during the first year. He also had to choose which church he wanted to attend….and he HAD to attend somewhere. Then, of course, there were the chores; yard work, kitchen duty and babysitting the bratty niece. The Man was mild mannered. He spoke kindly, but firmly. It was the first time my dad felt complete. He had a roof over his head, plenty of food to eat and a home where there was understanding, guidance and discipline. He was loved. He swore he would never be homeless or go hungry again.
Then the day came when the courts released my dad from guardianship. With no job prospects and being intensely independent, the next step was only logical. Forgery.
Actually, it was rather common place during the war for underage boys to forge the birth date on their birth certificate to join the military, and the desperate recruiters turned a blind eye. Therefore, at age 14 my dad enlisted in the Navy and fought alongside full grown men on naval battleships for 2 years and six months. By the time he was 18 and released from the military, working as a Hod Carrier seemed rather tame.
It's all in the perspective.
When I think about how that Man loved my father with such great compassion and commitment, I see a picture of what our Lord is like. Christ sees us hiding behind the bushes, hungry, and with mud on our face. He knows our clothes are in shambles and our shoes are two sizes too big. We are orphaned and foul-mouthed. Yet, without judgment in his eyes and with a kindhearted reach, Christ invites us to his home. He gently pulls us out of our pile of broken bricks and sets us up on the foundation that will last. As we stand back and observe the Work through His eyes, we see with a different perspective.
Ephesians 2:19
You're no longer wandering exiles. This kingdom of faith is now your home country. You're no longer strangers or outsiders. You belong here, with as much right to the name Christian as anyone. God is building a home….Now he's using you, fitting you in brick by brick, stone by stone, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone that holds all the parts together. (The Message)
