Her breath made small vaporous puffs as she hurried back to her apartment. Boy, it was cold! Why had she even agreed to go in the first place? But her co-worker’s persistence had done its work and she went. After all, it was only an hour, maybe two, out of her evening and there wasn’t anything else to fill the time. Christmas being what it was, was a family affair and she didn’t have one. Strike that. She had one, but didn’t know their names. She’d tried looking, but had concluded it would take a miracle to find them. And if she did, then what? She doubted she would fit in even if they agreed to meet her.
She’d known most of her life that she had been adopted. Her parents loved her to pieces was how they put it; and sometimes she quietly thought it was an apt expression. Being an only child had its pressures and perhaps being adopted added to them – or subtracted; she couldn’t know for certain. But they had been old when she was a baby – having tried and tried to have their own. Their own. They would’ve been upset such a thought crossed her mind. Anyway, they had died within two weeks of each other. Heartbreak maybe. That was three years ago.
When they died, she’d sold the townhouse they’d bought the minute she graduated from high school. She didn’t blame them for the purchase. But once her childhood home was gone, it hadn’t felt the same. And due to their move, most of the pieces that had filled their house had been sold or given away. Going “home” hadn’t held the same sense of belonging afterward.
She unlocked the door of her apartment. The 1920’s architecture of her building more than suited her. Shrugging out of her coat, she hung it on the coat tree by the door. This was her home now. She was content.
She wrapped an afghan around her shoulders and picked up Rockwell Kent’s World
Famous Paintings. She didn’t begrudge not having family, but it did mean if she was to get a Christmas gift, she would buy it herself. This one was from the used bookstore two blocks over. But as she sipped some cocoa – it was a Belgian chocolate concoction she favored – and paged through the book, something she had heard tonight pestered her. The minister had mentioned something about adoption. Why would he say such a thing and at a Christmas Eve service of all times?
She knew about baby Jesus. She knew the whole Christmas tableau. She’d gone to Sunday School with her childhood friend while her parents slept in, but she’d never heard adoption mentioned. Laying Kent’s book aside, she pulled out that Bible her friend had given to her in high school. It was still like new. She fingered the gilded edges of the pages. A quick search of the concordance brought success. There. And there! More? Yes, more!
The evening waned and she read like her Bible was a seven course meal. She hadn’t know she was hungry. Adopted? She knew about adoption. She lived adoption. But this was different. A father who would go anywhere with her, even if it meant not sleeping in; who would give anything – anything – a baby in a manger, for instance, for her! A father who wouldn’t sell her home, but rather prepare one that felt more like home than any place in the world! And family! People just like her.
Christmas morning peeked over the horizon as she drifted to sleep. She would have loved how the sun’s rays touched her face just so had she been awake to notice it. She’d read through the night. Shepherds. Scientists. Fishermen. Kings and governors. Prostitutes. Teachers. Lawyers. Beggars. Thieves. Businesswomen. Children. People from all walks of life. And one Father. And one Savior Brother. And finally. Finally, finally, she felt more than adopted. She felt like family. Was this the miracle she’d wanted? The discovery of family? Yes. And more: A Christmas gift she didn’t have to buy herself.
Scripture: Moses was adopted.; Esther was adopted.; For you did not receive a spirit of slavery that returns you to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption to sonship, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15); And more than that, we ourselves, though we possess the Spirit as a foretaste and pledge of the glorious future, yet we ourselves inwardly sigh, as we wait and long for open recognition as children through the deliverance of our bodies (Romans 8:23); They are the people of Israel, chosen to be God’s adopted children. God revealed his glory to them. He made covenants with them and gave them His law. He gave them the privilege of worshiping Him and receiving His wonderful promises.(Romans 9:4); so that He might redeem those who were under the Law, that we might receive the adoption as sons and daughters.(Galatians 4:5); and having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by Jesus Christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of His will. (Ephesians 1:5); Image: pexels-photo-306864.jpeg; alice-pasqual-bDL5INidTEQ-unsplash-scaled.jpg; al-elmes-ZiCz-oW1LXA-unsplash-scaled.jpg
The old woman had done it for years. Some people shook their heads if they happened on her small house on the edge of town. Why spend money on bird food when it was obvious it could be spent more wisely? She clearly didn’t
have the resources to paint her house’s weathered boards, yet she spent what little she had on flowers in the springtime and birdseed (birdseed!) in the winter. Foolish woman!
green with a hint of gray, like the soft leaf of lamb’s ear that grew near the back step. It had shutters, too; shutters of a deeper green like the algae that grew in the pond every spring a mile down the road. In those days the little house burst with sweet scents of cookies and the savory aroma of slow-cooked barbeque or her favorite, peppery catfish. Laughter was common and prayer was as natural as breathing.
Even in the old days flowers had delighted her and birds seemed to be little messengers of joy. And in the days in which new silence seemed echoing and eating seemed a bother, they had kept her from wanting to die, herself. They had been loyal to her, so now she was loyal to them. That was the why. It was the why of her choices the townspeople didn’t know.
