Adopted by Abba Father

Today  I read of Brennan Manning’s death . His words have had such a strong impact on my faith journey.   I am so grateful for his heart and his books. Thank you Brennan for the reminder  that God’s love and acceptance trumps any human relationship and His grace covers me when I lack the belief that God is who He says He is:  My Abba Father.
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Annie was the first production that I saw in live theatre. I loved little orphan Annie and still do. I was 10 years old when my mom and I rode the train to downtown Cleveland,  ate lunch at Higbees, window-shopped, and then walked to the theatre.  I was mesmerized.
I just loved that adoption story. Annie praying and Daddy Warbucks lonely and how it all falls together with even Sandy the dog finding a home.  I sang “Tomorrow” All. Day. Long. Every day for weeks.  I was convinced I sounded just like Annie. I had curly hair like her.  It could be dyed red, and the part would be mine.

Annie never came to our small Ohio town.   I never got to play Annie.   But adoption stories still bring me to tears.

Every. Single. Time.

It’s such a God-woven miracle when a whole host of things come together to create a family where there was none. It’s better than an action movie with wanna-be parents tear obstacles down and fight evil at every pass to get to that child.   To claim her. To claim him.
There is an “Adoption Story” show on television.  I watch through tears when a hopeful couple travels across the globe to meet the son or daughter they have prayed for so long. Then my heart aches at the sacrifice of a teenage mom as she passes her son to the couple at her bedside.   They rush there because he is the son they couldn’t conceive themselves.  He has entered this world and awaits their signatures to claim him, to name him.

The stories are inspiring.  I also know that when the cameras are put away they will all begin the long slow dance of making each other family.  And in a thousand ways they forge forward and maneuver the baggage they each carry.  I know in my heart when the initial joy subsides each person will secretly doubt their place in the new family. The broken places slowly heal but never disappear completely.

Adopted children struggle.  I’ve watched families unpack the baggage that is carried into the middle of the family from across the ocean or across town.  It’s weight is often heavier than expected.  I think of a boy adopted at the age of 2,  struggling his whole childhood to accept the love of his adopted parents.  He was rescued from a crowded orphanage in Russia.  But something deep in his early days on this earth broke the part of him that connects with others.  It makes him angry and rebellious and often out of control.  And hard to love.  But they don’t stop trying.

I see it in a 20-something girl who I claim as family because I recognize the pain in her.  How she reaches for every scrap of love she can find in boys and alcohol and anything that will dull the pain of her mom’s mental illness and her father’s silence.
Because when someone leaves you?  When parents desert you to an orphanage, or abandon you through death or their own agenda or even sacrificially gives you up because they know it will be “better for you”?   The truth that is ingested is this:  “No one wants me. I am unlovable.”

And that is the greatest lie.   It is the lie that is beneath every addiction, depression, and suicide.   It is not to be believed.
It is a lie that Brennan Manning fought against and wrote volumes on.  The radical grace of a God that adopts us so completely, just as we are.  That in our “Ragamuffin” state, we are continually pursued and rescued over and over by a God who loved us so much that He sacrificed his only son to win our hearts.

Because God doesn’t just claim us as a father. Did you know that Abba Father means MY father? And since He is my father, I claim the  title of adopted and begin to unpack my baggage.  I rework the voices in my head that say I am unworthy.  Because God’s story of adoption is more dramatic than any we will witness on this planet. He conquered death. Reclaimed all the pain.

 For this:
“to bestow on me a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise  instead of a spirit of despair. So I can be called an oak of righteousness,  a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”       Isaiah 61:3

And  this blue jean girl~ an adopted one that now belongs to Christ? I have the same problems shared by all adopted children. Attachment disorders. Trust issues.  My adoption story is full of  juxtaposition. I want desperately to be loved but at the same time reject it. He calls me beloved but I push away being loved. I don’t know how to accept it.  How He could He love me if He really saw, if He really knew?

And so God has to pursue me.  Over and over.

And God reminds me in his words and in radical grace.

And I remember again.  I am claimed, adopted, cherished, and beloved.
It’s the greatest adoption story ever.  And still brings me to tears every single time.

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But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, “Abba, Father.”                    Galatians 4:4-6

Discover Brennan Manning’s books here.