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“I’m sick,” Peter said.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sandra replied, distracted. “I’ll call your coach and let him know you won’t be at practice this afternoon.”
“No!” Peter said quickly, and then realized he was betraying himself and said more slowly, “I might be better by then. Don’t call him yet.”
She looked at her son. “You’re going to church.” The look on his face concerned her. He looked more crestfallen than he should have looked from such a benign pronouncement. “Honey, why don’t you want to go to church?”
He shrugged and looked at the floor.
She gently lifted his chin toward her. His eyes came with it. “Sweetie, you know why we go to church, right?”
“Because there’s power in group worship, and because iron sharpens iron,” he recited dutifully, sounding too much like a robot.
She smiled, proud of his response even if it hadn’t come from the heart. “That’s right. So we need to go, okay?”
“Okay. Can I sit with you instead of going to junior church?”
This surprised her. “Of course you can. Why?”
“Junior church is for babies,” he said and walked away, presumably to get ready for church.
Sandra went to refill her coffee mug, and Nate started hollering at everybody to hurry up. She looked at the clock. “We’ve still got plenty of time.”
“I can’t be late. I’m teaching today.”
She closed her eyes to avoid rolling them. “I know that. But we’re not going to be late. We’ve still got fifteen minutes before we have to leave.”
“I want to leave now, Sandra, so we’re not running in right at the bell”—
She hated it when he used school metaphors.
—“and so that I can be friendly and greet people when they walk in.”
Thinking that he could stand to be a little more “friendly” with his own family, she resignedly dumped her coffee into a travel mug and went to get the baby.
Seven minutes later, Nate, in even more of a tizzy, climbed into the minivan’s driver’s seat and asked Sandra to hurry up with buckling Sammy in.
“Sorry, this thing has seventy-five snaps.”
“You use hyperbole too much,” he said, looking at his phone.
She had heard this complaint before, didn’t remember what hyperbole meant, kept forgetting to look it up, and so never tempered her use of it.
“Shoot!” Peter cried and reached to open the sliding door. “I forgot my iPad.”
From the front, Nate pressed a button that shut the door Peter had just started to open. “You don’t need to bring your iPad to church.”
“Dad, it’s got my Bible on it!”
Nate leaned back against the headrest and hit the button again to open the door. “Fine. Hurry up.”
Peter jumped out of the car and ran back inside. Sandra climbed into the front. “It’s okay. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“Doesn’t that kid own a print Bible?”
“Of course he does. He has like six of them. But all the kids are using tablets for their Bibles at church.”
“That’s just foolish. We don’t even let them have tablets in school.”
“I know, but this isn’t school.”
Peter reappeared and climbed back into the van. Nate started to back out of the garage before the sliding door had even clicked shut.
“Thank you for hurrying, honey,” Sandra said over her shoulder. Peter ignored her gratitude. He just stared out his window like he was on the way to the coal mines.
Church was only a few miles away. They pulled into the parking lot, which wasn’t crowded yet, as many people didn’t go to Sunday school, and of those who did, the majority showed up late. Nate parked close to the door and then wordlessly jumped out and headed inside, leaving Sandra to unpack the children. Peter was helpful, though, and grabbed the diaper bag without being asked. Then he followed her to the nursery, while Joanna ran off to find her class. There was no one in the nursery yet. Of course there isn’t. Because we’re early. Sandra sat in a rocking chair. “You can head to class, Peter. I’ll wait for the nursery person to get here.”
“I’ll wait!” Peter chirped.
Sandra looked up, shocked. “What?”
“Dad’s teaching today. I know he wouldn’t want you to be late. So I’ll wait with Sammy if you want.”
Sandra looked at Sammy’s chubby, drooly face and then at Peter’s. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Definitely.” He held out both hands for his little brother.
“Wow, Peter. Thanks. You are a good big brother.” She handed the baby to him and got up. Peter immediately took her seat. Sandra left her two sons in the otherwise empty nursery, beaming with pride.
No one had shown up yet for Nate’s adult Sunday school class, but they did start drifting in soon after Sandra joined him. She greeted her friends warmly, genuinely excited to see them.
Nate did a great job teaching the class. He was organized, a good communicator, and had a good sense of humor. Sandra admired him while he taught. She was proud of him. He’d taught high school math for ten years before becoming a principal. At first, he’d had no aspirations of going into administration, but then he thought it could be his gift to the world. There was so much need in the public schools, and he had such a servant’s heart. He was a good principal—a great one even. He’d made a lot of positive changes in their school district’s high school and was respected by all the teachers and most of the students and parents. Sandra hadn’t weighed in on the decision, had thought he probably knew best about whether to make the move from teacher to administrator, but she now believed he’d made the right decision.
When class finished, Sandra went back to the nursery to check on Sammy, and found Peter still there, holding his brother. “Peter! What are you still doing here?” The nursery was now full of tiny humans, not Peter’s favorite demographic, and Odetta, this week’s nursery volunteer, was also there, directing toddler traffic.
“Oh, Sandra! Thank God for this little saint of yours!” she gushed, tousling Peter’s hair with her free hand.
Peter blushed, and Sandra couldn’t believe he didn’t flinch away from her slightly invasive display of affection.
“He has stayed with me the whole time, and he’s been such a huge help! Can he help more often? He’s been rockin’ babies and wipin’ hineys!”
Sandra’s jaw dropped. Peter had never changed a diaper in his life. What on earth was going on?