Thanksgiving

I got up early this morning with Daniel, our 7-month old son. At 5 am when a little baby is communicating his displeasure and you have three other sleeping children in close proximity the natural response is to rush to the bedside of the infant and restore quiet to the house. In my hurried effort to hush Daniel I threw off the covers, through on some sweatpants and scurried to his crib... shirtless, which seemed innocuous enough at the time.

Daniel calmed down and I walked around with him for 20 minutes or so before settling in the recliner in the living room. He eventually dozed off into a light sleep as I held him against my chest. I may have failed to recognize it before, but the biting chill in our living room this morning told me that fall is officially upon us and I was ill-prepared for that reality this morning. The thing is, once you get the baby asleep too much moving around disturbs his slumber and you don’t want to tempt him. At that point, getting a shirt on or digging up a blanket somewhere has inherent risks that I was unwilling to take and the lack of foresight when I initially woke up became evident. For 2 hours I was refrigerating myself. The other kids woke up around 7 and Betsy too. She came and got Daniel and fed him and put him back in his crib. I returned to my bed, just vacated by Betsy who serves has a natural space heater, and Thanksgiving morning really began...

I am thankful for warm blankets, especially the heated blanket that makes it’s way onto our bed every Fall. I am thankful for coffee in general, but the first cup of the day in particular... it warms the body and the soul. I am thankful for slippers. I am thankful for the light humming of the dehumidifier that drowns out some of the noise in a noisy home. I am thankful for early morning hours when everyone is quiet and sleeping, the calm before the storm. I am thankful for the way the light breaks through gradually beautifully announcing the gift of another day. I am thankful for the sweet and especially pleasant demeanor for the first 30 minutes after the boys wake up when they are most rested, and I thankful for the next 13-14 hours each day of goofiness, laughter, conflict and chaos... every “awww” moment and every “oh no you didn’t moment” is a gift. I am thankful for extra sauce on pizza at a time when the food service industry is being stingy with the ingredients. I am thankful for paper plates and plastic cups... I know they aren’t helping the environment much but they cut dish washing time significantly. I am thankful of Ibuprofun. I am thankful for chocolate chip cookies... which reminds me, I am thankful for milk. I am thankful that I am a daddy... nothing else brings so much joy or frustration, nor does anything else demand so much work and yield such profound reward, nor does anything else expose my sinful heart so plainly or reveal God’s grace to me so abundantly. I am thankful for Nintendo DS, even when an 8-year-old takes me to school in Mariokart... of course he cheated. I am thankful for football, both real and fantasy... how else would I ever realize my dream of being a General Manager for a pro football team? I am thankful that TV hasn’t always existed because I am thankful for books by dead guys and I assume the absence of the one led to the beauty of the other... people just don’t write the way they used to. I am thankful for Facebook... how else would I have 500-plus friends all of who know I am doing on at a given moment. I am thankful for terrible cartoons and kid’s shows... they buy us a few minutes of peace here and there. I am thankful for nephews and a beautiful little niece... our boys have the most fun when they are together with their cousins. I am thankful for $1 menu infiltrating the fast food market... I mean, it’s all just $1. I am thankful for the gas leaf blower, what I call “the breath of God”... it’s just slightly more efficient then the push broom. I am thankful light sabers... both real and plastic... Jedi’s make the world a safer, better place. I am thankful for being called by God. I am thankful that he has chosen to love me in Christ, and that he has seen fit to invite me into partnering with him in reconciling all things to himself. I am thankful for Jesus’ bride, the church... in all her weaknesses, flaws and shortcomings she still somehow advances the Kingdom of God and reflects the beauty of her husband even if only dimly... the fact that He gave his life for her leads me to believe she is worth giving my life to as well. Speaking of which, I am thankful for my bride. I am thankful that I wake up every morning to the most beautiful woman in the world... and the best looking too. I am thankful for her partnership in everything, especially in raising four men of God... I am truly a much better man, husband, father and Christian because of her. I am thankful for anything that makes her smile... even if it’s at my expense. I am thankful for her patience and tolerance of me and all the ridiculousness that sharing life with me entails. I am thankful for her love for Jesus that fuels her love for me and her children... only because her heart is His is she able to love me so well. I am thankful the scriptures, that through them God chose to reveal himself to us. I am thankful that his Word truly is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword. I am thankful for the cross of Christ that saves me from my sin and the resurrection of Jesus that saves me to a new life. I am thankful that his grace to me is not without effect... it’s like a warm blanket.

Adoption

I met my son Dylan when he was about to turn 3-years-old. He was doing puzzles in the living room of his grandparents house where he and Betsy lived. I remember, while talking to Betsy in the kitchen, stopping to ask if that was her nephew because her sister was sitting there with him. Betsy somewhat coyly corrected me saying, "No... that's my son." At that moment, as a 23-year-old bachelor, in my mind her statement abruptly ended a relationship before it began. While I enjoying my initial interaction with my future wife, the mention of her having a son left me waving the white flag internally.  

Over the next couple of hours in that first meeting I sat down with Dylan and did some puzzles, read some books and goofed off, with little idea where that day would ultimately lead all of us. That was a little over five years ago. About 9 days ago, Betsy, Dylan and I spent the morning in the Cobb County Superior Court, finalizing my adoption of Dylan. Officially, it is Dylan Rowell now. I never could have known, when I first met Dylan, how much he would change my life. When it did become apparent that life was indeed changing, I remember the prideful thoughts of what a gift I was to Dylan and to Betsy. It did not take long for God to rebuke me and remind me that they were his gift to me. The single most difficult thing I have ever had to do was make that transition from bachelor to husband and father. No other situation has done more to shine a bright light on the darkness of my own heart as well as to move me toward humility and holiness than becoming a husband and daddy. Neither has any one thing done more for me to better understand God's heart for me, than to adopt Dylan as my own son.  

I have watched Dylan, myself and our relationship evolve in significant ways: starting as a guy he knew as "James" that came over to see his mom and took him to see Spiderman 2 and to "play" with him... to me being a guy who offered instruction and discipline and who moved him from sharing a bed with mommy to the floor by the bed and eventually to his own room... to me being a guy he called "daddy" and he lived with and wrestled with every night... Then Dylan went from a boy with all the attention to sharing that attention with two little brothers and inheriting a heap of responsibility... he's gone from a cute little preschooler, to a mature, hansom young man, articulate, funny and talented. He has fully moved from a mama's boy to a daddy's boy (i think his mom would agree), and he now sets the tone for three little brothers and a slew of cousins, all who adore him and follow his lead.  

Reflecting over the last several days, the "Spirit of adoption" has been the refrain in my head. In Romans 8, Paul writes to the Christians in Rome and he tells them that "you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!" The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs-heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ..." I have been meditating on this passage for a number of days now and I have come to see more beauty in two precious doctrines: predestination and adoption.  

You might be wondering if predestination relates to this at all or if I am just a Calvinist with an agenda. Let me explain: Dylan had a life apart from me for a couple of years. He was born into Betsy's family. He's known his aunts, uncles, and grandparents on that side of the family for longer than he has known his dad. He has known his mom longer than his dad has. For his first three years, I did not exist to Dylan. He could have seen me or even met me without ever knowing who I was. But what happened on Monday changed everything... it revised his story.  

A birth certificate was issued of course in my absence 8 plus years ago and my name was not on it. Today, if you looked up Dylan's birth certificate, all evidence suggests that I was there from the beginning, and that he was mine all along. Dylan did not seek me or find me to be his dad, nor did he ask me or choose me. I chose him when I chose Betsy. I pursued them. Even after we were married, I never asked Dylan to call me "daddy". I just loved him and he eventually saw me that way. Thinking about his adoption reminds me that I didn't go looking for God, or choose God or ask him to love me. Rather, through Jesus, God pursued me, found me, chose me and loved me to point that I have loved him back.  

Through adoption, see, Dylan's whole story has been rewritten to reveal that he was always mine, and I was always his. Even though he was very well loved by his mom and many others, he was without the daily, stabilizing presence of a dad. The insecurity and confusion produced in the early part of his story finds meaning and significance because he belonged to someone all along... he just hadn't met him yet. The beginning has to be seen differently in light of the end.  

And isn't it this way in our relationship with God? When God adopts us into his family, all the pain, confusion, fear and chaos that dominated our story before Him can be seen as an intricate weaving of a complex story that was always about you becoming part of His family. You can't know that is the story being told while you are in it, but once you get to the end, or to the adoption, you can reflect back and see how everything in your life led you there, into the loving embrace of a perfect Father. In other words, if adoption is by design, then the hurt of being orphaned can be legitimately recast as the residue of design. Rejection makes sense in light of adoption.  

What I love about adoption is that it stands alone. Adoption isn't regeneration. Adoption isn't justification. It's something altogether different. Where regeneration gives me new life spiritually and justification gives me right legal standing before God, adoption more fully symbolizes the intimacy and depth of God's affections for me. I could have had Dylan live with me, provided for him, had relationship with him all without ever adopting him. Likewise, God could justify me through Christ without adopting my as his own son. But we wanted Dylan to bear our family's name. We wanted Dylan to know that his position in our family is secure. We wanted Dylan to know he has the full rights of all of our sons. We wanted Dylan to see himself as we wanted him to be seen... as our very own child, a part of who we are, a precious gift, loved and cared for, fully accepted, chosen and worth giving our very lives for.  

That's just my simple love for my son. That God's love for me is so great that He would claim my sonship is worth his own life arrests me. That he actually proved it to be true through the person and work of Jesus Christ compels me to eagerly surrender. His death and resurrection offer much more than forgiveness for sin... they offer a roof over my head, a bed at night, a seat at the table for dinner and a share in the inheritance. I have received the full rights of a son. Everything about my life identifies me with the family of God, and Him as my Father.  

We tend to associate adoption with those who have been neglected, orphaned and cast aside. We assume that children of adoption should and will have to deal with the significant pain of rejection... and so many will undoubtedly and necessarily have much to work through. But the bible teaches something completely contrary to our understanding of these things. The bible teaches us that adoption isn't about someone being rejected, it's about someone being selected. The biblical view of adoption is rooted in the idea that I am chosen, not that I am orphaned.  

The older I get and the longer I walk with Jesus the more my identity and confidence is tethered to him and the reality that through Christ, God has adopted me into his family. He chose me, initiated the adoption and sees it through to completion, all to his delight. For Dylan, as a young man now twice adopted, a child of mine and a child of God's, my hope and prayer for my son is that his identity rests securely and firmly on the fact that I and his Maker have both chosen him, and that he not prove or earn anything to either of us.  

If you are in Christ, may you remember again the beauty and wonder of being adopted as a son or daughter of God. And may the weight of his active pursuit of you wreck you today and every day. And if you don't know Jesus, may your orphaned soul surrender to that same loving pursuit of God and the glorious inheritance he offers to you through Christ... and may you be overwhelmed by the Spirit of adoption even today.