Manual Labor

I spent the evening drilling holes in tough concrete ceilings. Our neighbor lives as a single parent with her three-year-old daughter. She called us and asked if we could help. She does not really have anyone who can help her with this sort of thing. My drill has a ‘hammer’ function (I am not sure what it is called) and, strangely enough, it is better suited for this than most Russian drills. Even so, it was tough going. Bits turned blue and then broke and my hands are still shaking.

We are so thankful that she asked us because we know that that minor work went a long way with her. Maya and her meet once or twice a week, and tonight, they chatted the whole time while I was burning bits up in the other room.

It reminded me again that building a relationship is, quite often, manual labor.

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