Contentment

A young father sits holding his son in his arms. Bone weary, tired beyond imagining, he would not trade this moment for anything else in the world. This baby, this beautiful boy, whose clear eyes stare back at him, makes all of this worthwhile.

The baby clings to his father’s finger, comforted by the strength of the arms cuddling him, lulled by the familiar tones that read to him, talk to him, sing in short little bursts. This is his world, his security, all that he knows.

The father has given up much for this child. He has left the valley where he was born, traveled thousands of miles so that his son’s mother might have a roof over her head and food in her belly. He has left behind the familiar landscapes of his own childhood and the faces too, all in order that he might find work and keep his promise to his own son.

The baby’s eyes close and he nods off, tiny face smiling, sweet little body snuggling against the great heart he is so familiar with.

The father’s eyes close too, his young face smiling quietly as he promises, one more time, never to leave this tiny creature he loves more than life itself. He is content. This is all he ever wanted and he will preserve it at any cost.

And so it is that the young mother comes in a few moments later to see them both sound asleep and gently snoring in a rough old chair on a cold December night.