It was 12:30am (very, very late for me) and I was out walking the dog for a last-time-before-bed potty run. I’d stayed up way too late playing Skyrim (again) and just wanted the dog to finish her “duty” (get it?) so I could go to bed.

In the distance I heard that sound. You’ve heard it too. It’s low but powerful, sporadically sounding in the night.

Soon the far-off horn was replaced by the “clickity clack” of a freight train as it gently (I say gently because, from a distance, it looks like it’s moving gently but it’s still an immovable giant) passed by on the tracks just down the way from home. It was cold out but I stood out there an extra few minutes just to listen to it. Its engine rumbled lowly, sneakily providing enough power to haul the mile-long train of freight cars.

Why did I stand outside, taking in sounds we’ve all heard so many times? Because it reminded me of three things.

My Mom. Who took care of me (and still takes care of me) while Dad was toiling selflessly as a train engineer for 30-some-odd years.

My Dad. Who took care of me (and still takes care of me) by sacrificing any semblance of a normal life and working on the railroad, always on call, ready to leave in a moment’s notice, leaving Mom to deal with… well, me.

And lastly, my Father. The Father. Because Mom and Dad, through their tireless care for me, drew me a perfect picture of Him and His tireless care for me long before I ever understood who He was.