Peyton's Saunter

My wife picks them up from the school bus.

When they get to our house, backpacks and shoes are dumped by the front door.

I’m almost always at my desk.

It took some time and a talk or twenty, but they learned that if I’m there, that means, I’m at work—just like mommy and daddy go to work—only my work happens to be in the bedroom/office at home.

So, if I’m at my desk, they try to be quiet and they don’t stay long, but they always come in. One by one, they take turns. “Hi Papa,” followed by a great big hug. I love that part of the day. They plop in the old wooden rocker next to my desk. Usually, by this time they have a snack in hand. We chat about their day for a moment or two and then, they’re off to play.

Luke bounces in and jumps in my lap asking questions from out of the blue and then he’s off again. Savannah dashes in and out talking a mile a minute about this friend or that. Peyton saunters in; never in a hurry, always something on his mind. Nevaeh rides a different bus so she shows up later, talking so much like an adult it makes me smile.

That’s how it goes, every day, with hugs, small talk and laughter…but not always.

Peyton sauntered, slower than usual. His hug was heavy; as was his plop into the rocker. The ever-present smile and wide-eyed wonder; gone.

He rocked back and forth a time or two. He had always looked me straight in the eye. Not today. His rocking stopped. He stared at the floor.

The silence was really loud.

“It’s so hard to hold them back.” He glanced at me, then back to the floor. “They just want to come out.”

He started to rock again. Fast.

I touched his arm.

The rocking stopped.

“Who’s hard to hold back? What do you mean?”

He rocked back and forward one time, pulled in a real deep breath, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “The tears.”

I nodded and rocked back and forth in my office chair a moment or two.

“If you get cut, it bleeds, right?”

He nodded and looked at me like, what’s that have to do with anything?

“What do you do if the cut has dirt in it?”

“Put a band-aid on it” he said.

“Don’t you wash it out, first?”

“No, that stings.”

I smiled. “Well, if we don’t wash it out, it could get infected and hurt much worse later, right?”

He shrugged his shoulders and nodded a little.

“If we get a wound on the outside, we wash it so it won’t get infected—even bleeding helps cleanse, so it can heal. Well, if we get a wound on the inside, if we are sad or hurt inside, our tears help to clean the wound, to help us heal.”

He shook his head. “B—b—but, daddy said I shouldn’t cry.”

“I suppose, it hurts him to see you cry. But, it’s good to cry. Big boys can cry. Daddies cry. Even Papa cries…a lot.”

With that, he sprang out of the rocker and collapsed into my lap with such force we rolled backwards in my office chair until we collided against the printer stand. His sobs were loud and hard. I could feel the healing soaking my shirt.

We stayed like that for an eternity or two. Finally, the words came out muffled against my chest, mingled with so much sorrow, it caused me to ache.

“Why does daddy have to go away?”

I hugged him tight and rocked him slow. So, that’s what this is about.

“I wish he could get his old job back and be home every day like he used to.”

 Mommy and daddy had kept an amicable relationship after the divorce. So, as sad as it was, at least the kids were able to see both of their parents, pretty much, as often as they wished.

But now, daddy worked out of state four weeks and only home for one. He’d just left and the thought of a month without daddy was the same thing as forever to precious Peyton.

What could I say?

“Let’s pray.”

Through quivering lips and stuttering breath, Peyton managed, “Okay.”

We prayed. I spoke. Peyton believed.

“Lord, please help daddy get a job back home. Peyton misses him really bad because he loves him very much.  Help him to feel better too, please. Thank you. Amen.”

Peyton believes in prayer. I know he does because just the other day, he had a pain in his side and he said, “Hey Papa, it hurts right here—” he pointed to his left side and slummed down in his chair—“can you make it go away, like you did before?”

“What do you mean, like I did before?”

“This happened before, remember, last year, and you made it go away.”

I couldn’t remember, but I slapped my hands together just for fun, slid them back and forth real fast and then touched his side and asked Jesus to make the pain go away. After I thanked the Lord and said amen. He stood up, wiggled a little, smiled and said, “It’s gone.”

As he walked away, I tried not to act amazed and said, “Of course it is. Thank, Jesus.”

So, after we prayed this time, I could almost see Peyton’s childlike faith wash his wounded heart and lift a little quivering lip smile. “Thanks Papa.”

And off he went with a bit of a hop in his saunter.