Today’s poems (in Brian’s Bible study of the book of Mark) inspired me. I never questioned my identity as a daughter. My father couldn’t hide his pride in us, to the nourishment of our soul (and the slight frustration of my humble mom).
I felt loved and seen and delighted in.
As I adopted two daughters, I understood the immensity of belonging as a daughter.
I delight in my two daughters while I correct them and I teach them about God.
The irony is that my husband being an American citizen, he couldn’t adopt our daughters just yet. So even as their birth certificate was issued, they only had a mother listed. Just as their original birth certificate. Unknown father. Unclaimed.
They came to me two days ago, after debating at length in their room, and asked if they are “actual” sisters. And who is their father? (They are 8 and 11).
It is very likely that they have different fathers but definitely the same mother. They also look alike. And yet, even if they were not biologically related, they would have still been sister.
So we talk about who our Heavenly Father is. And how we have a name, and inheritance and a purpose because of Him. How Jesus was adopted by Joseph, as Joseph was not his biological father. How Joseph was afraid at first, but an angel encouraged him to take Mary and her unborn child to be his family.
What an amazing opportunity to talk about God the Father, my father too, who sent His Son to give His life so we could all be adopted and be saved.
Destitution. That was our destiny otherwise. Life is filled with sorrow and sacrifice and loss. But in the midst of it all, there is Hope, there is belonging, there is community.
I did not do anything to deserve a loving earthly father, a protector, a kind man to pour into the depths of my mind the assurance that I am enough and I am well loved. And also a strong mother, a warrior of faith, a leader through and through, with a clear voice and strong values, a woman I always admired.
When I was born, other children from the same hospital were sent to the orphanage because their parents did not want them. 40 years later most of them are dead. I live off grace, on borrowed time. How could I even dream to hoard any of this abundance? Grasping at grace with greed would drown me in despair. The only way to float in it is to open my arms and give. Let grace and light pass through me.
Thursday Jan 9th, 2025