When the rains stop, the dust begins. Visibility drops, our hills, the Mogillas, slowly fade away, my eyes get red, and at the end of a flying day, even, it’s like coming back from a day at a dusty beach… it gets everywhere.

Last December we hit a weeklong stretch of dry days at the end of a very wet year. Jack laid in position on his baby mat near the clothesline, Breanna was in the house checking on something, Isaiah was playing on the cement patio, and I was nearby repairing the baby stroller. Then the wind picked up, and gathered with it all the dust from town, a brown wall rearing over the fence. I didn’t think much of it, but I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

Isaiah’s toys were abandoned on the cement, and he was sprawled over his baby brother, with a hand over his face. It seemed to me like Jack wasn’t sure what was going on.

It was special for me to see. I love it because of two things.

Isaiah’s selfless action was spontaneous. And Jack was protected from something he did not understand, or even see, by someone bigger who cares a great deal about him. I love being their dad! It teaches me so much about life and about my Father.