Saturday, August 10, 2013

Recently in my family research I discovered I have not only slave-holders' blood, but southern plantation slave and North Carolina Tuscarora Indian blood; I have Powhantan blood, a drop or so from Pocahontas;  Viking, English, Welsh, Swiss, and French blood; blood of royalty, of lords and ladies, knights and those who died in the paupers' prison and by the guillotine; the blood of conquerors and those who were conquered.  The most important blood is the one that covers a multitude of sins.  I'm under the blood.  Jesus is my Savior and my brother.  I have been adopted by His Father where I may cry out, "Abba, Father," Daddy Father.   I can pray, "Our Father..."  That makes me part of a kingdom, an inheritance which will last forever!

Listening to tween and teen boys' brother conversation...("You have baby elephant hair."  "You're looking at my insides: that's where I got my blood drawn.") stuff and nonsense as they compare wounds from a blood draw.  We share no blood, but I am their mother as much as if I gave them birth.  Adoption is a paper.  A life together as parent and child makes us family.   I have children mid-thirties to twelve.  I'm always astonished that they grow up.  Weren't these boys little boney starved baby birds when we got them?  Now they speak in husky voices and fill husky bodies.  But, they'll always be my babies.  Adoption, an inheritance to share, not in riches of this earth, but of the next.

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