Big Family

I come from a really, really big family.

I have a sister who is from Canada and she is just about ready to meet up with her third baby--the baby girl that she is adopting from Haiti.  It's kind of funny that she is my sister and I've only found out about her story today.  But there's no doubt about it.  I can tell we're family by the way she talks, and by the way we both gush about our Dad.  And, of course, there is no mistaking Him.

I have another sister who is living in South Africa and fostering someone else's abandoned son, even though she's American and not married and doesn't have much money, because that's what our Dad asked her to do.  And I have a brother who, sadly, is suffering right now in a miserable prison because he wasn't willing to deny being part of our family, even when the authorities told him to just shut up about it. 

It's always a little strange to read about someone on the other side of the world and find out that they are a sibling.  It makes the news about them a little more special, or a little more sad, or a little harder to understand.  But in the end, it leaves me with a crazy keen sense of anticipation for our upcoming family reunion, because I truly can't wait to meet all my amazing brothers and sisters in person and get to hear the details of their stories face-to-tearful-face.

And wow. . . . how that will make our Dad's heart glad, when He finally has all of us under one roof!  He's preparing the place for us as we speak and He's already told us there are a LOT of rooms.  I have a feeling that the years we've spent apart on this shadowy planet will quickly be made up for as we embark on eternity together in the Real World.  There is something about being His adopted child that makes our hearts beat in time with all the other kids that He adopted before and after us.  Something that weaves us in and out of one another's lives even when we've never met.  Something that often makes me cry, and even more often makes me laugh, and mostly leaves me wanting to know my Father better than I did yesterday.

I love being a small part of such a big family.

Lost is Lost

Sometimes lost looks lost. It’s scruffy and ill-mannered, or belligerent and drunk. It’s shabby and low-class and obviously struggling to hold it together. It’s pathetic and ignorant and leach-like in its unwillingness to take responsibility for anything, ever. It’s a perpetual victim. It’s a perpetual criminal. It’s clearly in need of answers. It’s clearly in need.

But sometimes, lost is sneaky. Sometimes lost doesn’t look lost. Sometimes it looks attractive, even. Glamorous and affluent and confident. Sometimes lost is well-dressed and well-read. It’s witty and coy and productive and upstanding and shops at Whole Foods. It has a white collar and a Keurig. It recycles and is an informed voter. It’s a perpetual winner. It’s a perpetual taxpayer. It’s clearly in need of nothing.

But at the end of the day, lost is lost.

Until it’s found.