Working in child welfare law, there aren’t many happy days in court. Many people say that adoptions are the happiest days in this field, but honestly, for me, the happiest days are the ones where people get their kids back. Because they have done the hard work to face their demons and heal themselves, and have learned to put their children above all else. Adoptions are happy, but they also come with loss. You can’t become a part of a new family without losing an old one. There is loss in the gain. And there is sadness in that for me. It doesn’t take away from the happiness of the occasion. But it adds a richness of feeling that I can’t overlook.
Today was a day that started off with a particularly special adoption. A precious little boy became a forever part of a wonderful family. A family who loves him fully and absolutely. A family to whom this little boy belongs unquestionably. But he had to say goodbye to three other families before this miracle happened. The mommy whose body he grew in and whose heart he grew under, the first foster family who cared for him in his earliest days of life, and the family who cared for him for the next year. Loss in the gain. But even with that loss, seeing this precious little boy with this family, it was all joy.
Maybe it’s the season. Maybe it’s the little boy. Maybe it’s the family. But as I stood in the room this morning while the papers were being signed and the last minute details were finalized, what I watched most was this little boy sitting in his daddy’s lap, snuggled up against him watching cartoons on his mommy’s phone. Other than waving a big hello to each new person who came in the room, he was unconcerned about what was going on around him. Because he was safe in his daddy’s embrace, and he knew that.
When we were in the courtroom, during the adoption prove-up, this precious little boy threw his arms around his daddy’s neck and hugged him with all that he had no less than 15 times. And after resting his head on his shoulder for a moment, safe in his love and in his protection, he would lean back, give a big smile, and throw his arms around him all over again. He was saying I choose you. Again, and again, and again.
I thought how closely that relationship represents the persona of God as AbbaFather. Daddy. How that is best represented in those moments when we are so comfortable in that fatherly embrace that we just lean back, knowing we are loved, knowing we are protected, and so comfortable in that love and protection that whatever else is going on around us isn’t really all that important. I thought of how that little boy just held on to his daddy. How he rested his head on his shoulder, knowing fully that he was safe and loved and cherished. How he threw his arms around his daddy’s neck, time and time again, in absolute joy, saying without words, “You’re my favorite. I choose you.” Again, and again, and again. How his daddy received that love, returning unconditional love of his own. That is the picture I carry in my head and my heart of the fatherly relationship that we have with God as Abba Father. The father figure who adopted us as heirs as in Romans 8:15.
There is much I have learned in the past year of who God is and who he isn’t. How God is so much bigger and so much more than I ever realized. How God is both father, and mother, and brother, and friend. How God is master, creator, king. Provider, healer, protector. In that broadening of knowledge, I’ve recognized that even with all that knowledge of who God is, one of my favorite images will probably always remain the image of Abba Father. Maybe it’s because I have no earthly father to love and protect and cherish me. Maybe that’s why that image resonates with me the most. Maybe it’s because I can relate so deeply to the idea of being adopted into a family of love and trust. Maybe it’s just because that’s the first image of God I ever remember having. Whatever the reason, this precious little boy brought that image to me so clearly today. In this season of Advent, in preparing for the arrival of the son of God, I recognize how great that sacrifice was. That God would send his beloved son to us, in order to offer the opportunity to us to become members of the family as well. So that we might be given the opportunity to rest in the embrace of our AbbaFather, and throw our arms around his neck, saying “You’re my favorite. I choose you.” Again and again and again.
Loss with the gain. But all joy.
Today was a day that started off with a particularly special adoption. A precious little boy became a forever part of a wonderful family. A family who loves him fully and absolutely. A family to whom this little boy belongs unquestionably. But he had to say goodbye to three other families before this miracle happened. The mommy whose body he grew in and whose heart he grew under, the first foster family who cared for him in his earliest days of life, and the family who cared for him for the next year. Loss in the gain. But even with that loss, seeing this precious little boy with this family, it was all joy.
Maybe it’s the season. Maybe it’s the little boy. Maybe it’s the family. But as I stood in the room this morning while the papers were being signed and the last minute details were finalized, what I watched most was this little boy sitting in his daddy’s lap, snuggled up against him watching cartoons on his mommy’s phone. Other than waving a big hello to each new person who came in the room, he was unconcerned about what was going on around him. Because he was safe in his daddy’s embrace, and he knew that.
When we were in the courtroom, during the adoption prove-up, this precious little boy threw his arms around his daddy’s neck and hugged him with all that he had no less than 15 times. And after resting his head on his shoulder for a moment, safe in his love and in his protection, he would lean back, give a big smile, and throw his arms around him all over again. He was saying I choose you. Again, and again, and again.
I thought how closely that relationship represents the persona of God as AbbaFather. Daddy. How that is best represented in those moments when we are so comfortable in that fatherly embrace that we just lean back, knowing we are loved, knowing we are protected, and so comfortable in that love and protection that whatever else is going on around us isn’t really all that important. I thought of how that little boy just held on to his daddy. How he rested his head on his shoulder, knowing fully that he was safe and loved and cherished. How he threw his arms around his daddy’s neck, time and time again, in absolute joy, saying without words, “You’re my favorite. I choose you.” Again, and again, and again. How his daddy received that love, returning unconditional love of his own. That is the picture I carry in my head and my heart of the fatherly relationship that we have with God as Abba Father. The father figure who adopted us as heirs as in Romans 8:15.
There is much I have learned in the past year of who God is and who he isn’t. How God is so much bigger and so much more than I ever realized. How God is both father, and mother, and brother, and friend. How God is master, creator, king. Provider, healer, protector. In that broadening of knowledge, I’ve recognized that even with all that knowledge of who God is, one of my favorite images will probably always remain the image of Abba Father. Maybe it’s because I have no earthly father to love and protect and cherish me. Maybe that’s why that image resonates with me the most. Maybe it’s because I can relate so deeply to the idea of being adopted into a family of love and trust. Maybe it’s just because that’s the first image of God I ever remember having. Whatever the reason, this precious little boy brought that image to me so clearly today. In this season of Advent, in preparing for the arrival of the son of God, I recognize how great that sacrifice was. That God would send his beloved son to us, in order to offer the opportunity to us to become members of the family as well. So that we might be given the opportunity to rest in the embrace of our AbbaFather, and throw our arms around his neck, saying “You’re my favorite. I choose you.” Again and again and again.
Loss with the gain. But all joy.
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