By Stacy Johnson
Maybe it is just the place in my life, but when I hear the word LABOR, all I think of is “I don’t want to ever go through that again.” It could be that I have eight kids, or that I am almost 40 now, or that the last one, although the epidural was in place, offered no pain relief.
I appreciated Marsha’s post on the history of the holiday. I have always thought of this holiday in the terms of those who labored to make our country what it is today. I am certainly appreciative of what I have and try to not take for granted what they went through. The Encarta Dictionary for Microsoft Word gives tons of great definitions. It is a noun, like a group of workers, or a supply of work. It is also the process of childbirth. It is a verb, like to work hard or struggle to do something, to move or operate with difficulty. There is even a side note talking about a labor of love, where something demanding or difficult is done just for pleasure rather than for money.
I think that is where my writing falls. I hardly make any money compared to the number of things I write, but I do it for my own pleasure mostly. I write letters (you know, the kind you write with a pen on paper and put it in the mail), I write e-mails, I write lists, I write thank you notes, I write messages to my kids, I write on my blog, I write on my Facebook profile, etc. The only writing I get paid for is my occasional article in The Beehive newspaper, which again, I love doing.
I guess labor, for me, has tons of meaning. Today though, in the chaos I call my life, I am going to celebrate the labors of my family. We are an out of control, sports addicted, church calling dedicated, academically motivated, volunteer oriented group of over achievers who are going to celebrate this holiday at the D’backs game thanks to free tickets from my sister. I gotta go get ready for my holiday. Happy Labor Day, however you think about it and celebrate it.