My son and his wife are trying to adopt a child. For anyone who has been this route, you know the process can be expensive, time-consuming, and downright frustrating. The home studies, the fees, the waiting, the prayers.
Adoption is both joy and sorrow. For my son’s dream of fatherhood to come true, somewhere a young woman must make the gut-wrenching decision to give up her child. Without her sacrifice, he might never know the wonder of having someone look up at him and call him, “Daddy.”
It makes me consider my own adoption. Most of you don’t know I was once an orphan. Not only orphaned, but for the first fifteen years of my life, I was homeless. An illegal alien, if you will.
Scripture teaches that we are all orphans and wanderers until God calls us to be His children.
Like any adoption, the one that brought me into God’s family was an event mixed with joy and sorrow. My adoption was costly and required a great sacrifice. I didn’t have to foot the bill, but a Father had to give up His Son, in order for me to look up in wonder and call Him, “Daddy.”
“For you have not received a spirit of slavery leading to fear again, but you have received a spirit of adoption as sons by which we cry out, ‘Abba, Father!’” –Romans 8:15 (NAS)