A Coal Miner’s Commitment: Showing Up for Our Kids

Did you see the picture last week of the young coal miner at a college basketball game with his son? His face was masked in coal dust and he was still wearing his work clothes. Famed Kentucky basketball coach John Calipari shared the photo with a touching note about his family ties to coal mining, and the story quickly spread across the internet.

I felt an immediate affection for this miner. He reminded me of my daddy. My daddy was also a coal miner, and once showed up to my brother’s high school baseball game covered in coal dust. He sat quietly alone on the bleachers, a focused attention on his face as he watched the team play. I can’t recall much about that day but I remember daddy was there even though he was dirty.

Daddy was always showing up for my brothers and me (though usually he had time to shower and change clothes.) He rarely missed a ballgame or a band performance, even when 6 day work weeks were his usual.

The months between my freshman and sophomore years of college in 1996 I served as a summer missionary to Harrodsburg, Kentucky. My missions partner Tina and I led Vacation Bible School classes and Backyard Bible Clubs at a different church each week. None of the churches had VBS or BYBC scheduled the week of July 4^th so Tina and I were off duty those days. Tina’s family made plans to visit her so I asked daddy if he and mom could come to see me. I was disappointed when daddy said he couldn’t take time away from work. I began to pray that God would make a way. 

A few days later I got the news I hoped to hear… sort of.  Daddy had broken his ankle while working in the coal mines. It was his left ankle. Which meant he could still drive with his right foot. And drive he did – 6 hours and nearly 400 miles – to show up for me.

My daddy and the coal miner from Kentucky have inspired me to think about the ways I show up for my children. It can be complicated for my teenager who mostly likes to be alone. Abby Kate, who is 13-years-old, got some disappointing news a couple of weeks ago that caused her to break into tears. I sat on the bed beside her as she sobbed, “I just want to be alone!”

“OK,” I answered, still sitting. “I’ll only stay a minute.”

I stayed (and I stayed quiet) and between her choked cries she began to confide why this particular letdown mattered so much to her. After 10 minutes she said, “I’m better now and I’m ready to be by myself.”

Sitting down was showing up.

I’m fortunate to have a job that allows me to drive my kids to school and pick them up in the afternoon. I’ve noticed something as the students file out of the 6^th grade hallway towards the car line loading zone. They have to turn right to get where they’re supposed to be picked up, but inevitably the kids walk out of the building and they look to the left. They’re looking for us, moms, because they care if we show up.

Car line is showing up.
Washing laundry is showing up.
Saying “I love you” is showing up.

The little boy in Kentucky probably doesn’t realize the way his daddy showed up for him at the Kentucky scrimmage game. He may not know the hard work and danger his dad shoulders while working underground. I didn’t understand my daddy’s sacrifice when I was young but I do now. Maybe because I no longer have my daddy (he died in 2007) or maybe because I have two daughters of my own.

Our sacrifices are significant no matter who sees them. The love and care we demonstrate to our kids doesn’t have to be caught on camera and shared with the world because we aren’t showing up for the world. We’re showing up for our children, whether it’s sitting courtside at a basketball game covered in coal dust or around the kitchen table eating dinner clean and comfortable.

One of the letters my daddy mailed to me while I was serving in Kentucky – what I call a Postmarked Prayer – reads:

            “A child will remember the love you give them more than anything else. Keep loving them.”

Daddy was talking to me about the boys and girls I was meeting on mission. He may never have considered the impact those words would have on the way I want to raise his granddaughters.

I don’t always get it right. I’m impatient with their moods and messes and sometimes my irritation speaks louder than my love. But each day is a new day to show up for them, and I hope that’s the mom they will remember.

“Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift? The fruit of the womb his generous legacy?”

(Psalm 137: 3)
The Message