On Tuesday, the kids and I were sitting outside soaking up sunshine on an unusually warm day in late February. A friend and former teacher of the kids, Jo Stebbing, had stopped by for a visit with her little boy. She's British and he's a gypsy orphan. They've been together for 3 1/2 years now, and she's trying with all her might to legally adopt him. It's really comical to hear, "Mum, can't I just pop in the house and use the toilet?" with an perfect British accent coming from the mouth of this dark eyed, dark skinned, dark haired gypsy kid, who would normally be found dirty, skinny, and standing on the street somewhere begging. It made me laugh, and at the same time, made me grateful. For Jo and for Alex, but also for myself.
I am that gypsy kid, skinny, dirty, begging, with no hope. And I was taken in, loved, and given a place of belonging which has changed the way I live. Belonging to a Father who loves me and cares for me must change me.
As Jo and I talked I realized that the illustration goes even further. Alex isn't yet adopted. Romania is closed to international adoptions, which is sad because there are so many kids who need good homes. Hospitals and orphanages are full of kids who have no place to go. Several years ago, a system was set up to try to help the situation, for kids in the orphanage to have a "maternal assistant" to care for them. It's sort of a foster child arrangement, which still leaves kids without what they most need: belonging, permanence, security.
Jo began this relationship with Alex when he was 1 1/2 years, in a manner of speaking. I'm not sure of all the details, but somehow, her "maternal assistant" role could only be part time. She took Alex every weekend for over a year. When she realized that she and he both needed more time together, she unofficially took him in, with the hope of adopting him when she gained residency. Now there's a hang up with her residency, though she's an EU citizen, and the process is very much on hold. She has Alex all the time now, which has given him the discipline, order, and good health that he badly needed, but the papers aren't signed. She can't leave the country with him. He's not hers.
He calls her Mum. She loves him. He loves her. She provides for his physical needs, but they both live in a sense of fear. What if.... the child protection services comes and takes him away? ....someone stops by for a visit and sees the knot on his head from a bike accident and calls Jo unfit? ... the law changes again? ... something calls Jo back to England without Alex? ... her love for her fiance outweighs her love for Alex and she gives up? There's a lack of permanence, assurance, and security for them both.
Holding that image in mind, I'll take you to a statement that was made at Bible Study Thursday night. My friend said, "The way I see it, because God gives us a choice, though He's sovereign, one day, I could choose to walk away, to turn my back on God. There is no assurance of salvation, really."
What is missing in her theology? The doctrine of Adoption. When we are adopted by the King of the Universe, we belong. We can run, but He holds us fast. We may be dirty, ugly, skinny, hungry gypsy kids, but are His. And because we belong, it is permanent, we are sure, and we have an amazing security that relieves us of the fear that is ours because we know our wandering hearts. Yet, He knows our wandering hearts better than we and He takes them and seals them, signs the papers making us His with His blood.
So, all of this is going through my mind as I'm talking with Jo, thanking God for adopting me and the security that is mine in Him. My thoughts are interrupted by shouts coming from our front gate. A raspy, "Vecina! Vechina!" calling me, her neighbor, to the gate. I approach, smiling, wondering what she's up to. I ask her if I can help her with something.
She says, "Yes. You have a male dog, don't you?"
I'm wondering what Luther did to get in trouble, and reply slowly, "Yes. Why?"
"We need him to come over to our house for a while." She must have seen the confusion on my face and continued, "Our female dog is going crazy. She's in heat and she needs male dog. She needs it. Can you bring yours over?"
I'm thinking, can she be serious?? Looking at her pleading eyes, I realize she is. What to say... "You know, our dog was sick as a puppy and then he had an accident that resulted in a broken hip. He doesn't really do that. Sorry."
Now, she looks confused. "But our dog is going crazy. She needs a male dog. Now."
Hmmm..."You know, we have a female dog. She goes into heat every 6 months. It makes her mood change and she doesn't act the same, but she really can do without a male dog. In fact, unless you want a lot of puppies, it's best that she not have time with a male dog."
We went back and forth for a while, until I think she understood, though I'm not sure she agreed.
Oh, well. That's one place where helping means saying, "No."
Does he look like he's upset with me for interfering in his love life?
