Left Out

Jordan, my 8-year-old son, loves playing with Tyler. There are no children in our neighborhood, so when 7-year-old Tyler visits his grandmother next door, Jordan beams with excitement. Saturday morning Jordan spotted Tyler and rushed out the front door — no breakfast, still in his pajamas. I called him back inside to change his clothes, and he took a piece of toast — to go.

The boys kept busy all morning: ramping bikes, building tree forts, playing hide-and-seek. Jordan was hiding when I found him. "Lunch time," I announced.

"I can't come in for lunch. We were going to play until it's time for the party," Jordan panted, red-faced and sweaty from his morning adventures. He explained that Tyler's cousin was turning 6 and there'd be a party next door. He was certain he would get to go. "Look at the piñata, Mom. There's lotsa candy inside! When I get my turn, I'm gonna hit it hard so everyone can have some." I convinced him lunch was necessary; he'd need the extra fuel for the fun to come.

After hours of playtime, Jordan took another break for supper. He gobbled his food, without a breath between.

"Are you chewing?" I asked.

"Barely," he answered. He glanced out the window, ensuring that Tyler was still in sight.

"You've played all day with Tyler, honey. It might be a good idea for you to stay in now."

"Oh, Mom!" he yelped. "There's a birthday party with cake and a piñata." I forgot he had pined for his shot at breaking the paper mâche treasure-trove.

"How many more bites?" Jordan asked.

"Three more," I said.

The last of his food disappeared. Like a flash he was out the front door. Less than 15 minutes after his sprint, he was back. He ran to me sobbing. Once he calmed down, he told me that Tyler's grandmother told him to go home since the birthday party was about to begin.

Jordan went back outside, stood at the property line and watched the invitees eat their treats. The piñata still dangled.

"Jordan!" I called and waved him over. He walked toward me soaked in rejection. I remembered all too well where I had seen that same sad face before: the day Jordan's dad hugged him at the front door, told him he loved him and moved the last of his belongings out of our home.

I walked Jordan inside and made an ice cream sundae for him. He ate it as he watched the children take turns breaking the piñata. I helped Jordan into the bath, and I was fuming. How dare they! One extra little boy at the party wouldn't have made a difference, yet not including him made a huge impression.

I explained to Jordan that I didn't think it was nice that they excluded him, but there may have been reasons Jordan didn't know about. My words didn't seem to help. His eyes welled up again; my heart ached for him.

"I have the best idea. Next weekend we'll have our own party — a piñata party!" I exclaimed. He smiled faintly as I listed the friends we'd invite. I left the room, ready to send e-mail invitations to our celebration.

"Mom!" Jordan yelled to me. "If Tyler is at his grandma's when we have the piñata party, let's invite him."

Instantly, I thought, Let's not! I was angry; someone hurt my already hurt little boy.

"If we invite Tyler, then he'll know what the nice thing to do is," he explained. "If we don't let him come, we'd be the ones hurting someone's feelings, and he won't know what is right." I walked back in and leaned over the tub to kiss the face of my brokenhearted, but wise, little boy.

I was angry and wanted an "in your face" party, and yes, that may have released some of my fury, but it would have been a mean thing to do. Jordan spoke the truth.

"You're right Jordan; you just reminded me of exactly what Jesus would do."

"Yep," Jordan called out, "Jesus would for sure invite everyone to His piñata party."