I love Easter. Not the bunny or the eggs. That's not so much my thing. But the redemption, the power of Christ on full display, the conquering of death, the reuniting of Holy God with His people, His bride. That I love.
I've often said that one of the most unexpected gifts that came from the adoption of our precious boy is this teeny tiny glimpse God gave me into His heart, into His deep love for us.
We pursued Bradley while he was unaware of our existence. We stood in the downstairs room of his orphanage itching with anticipation, knowing we were about to meet our son while he slept above our heads completely unaware of the fact that the people who would become his mom and dad were in the building. We were tense with excitement and thrilled beyond description that the moment we had been longing for was finally upon us. My stomach was in knots and my heart was galloping. We had been running toward this goal for so long, and here it was. All we had to do was walk up two flights of stairs.
And I wonder now, if our Heavenly Father doesn't feel the same way right before one of His image bearers meets Jesus and has his or her life forever changed. I wonder if the Triune God tenses with anticipation and gets giddy with joy, knowing that everything that has been done, all the sacrifice, the pain, all of it has been leading to this moment. This moment when a wanderer is claimed forever by the Father. This moment when He reaches out and says, "Mine. This one is mine."
I wonder if the relief I felt when I held Bradley for the first time isn't in some way similar to what our Lord must feel when one of us leans in to His loving embrace.
And then we went and stood in front of a judge to petition one final time to be Bradley's mom and dad. Oh, I was nervous. This hearing would decide our family's future. The judge asked us a series of questions. Do you love this child? Do you want to parent this child? Will you love this child as one you birthed? On and on. I was in tears by the time he got to the final question.
"Do you understand that once I sign this document, the adoption is final and cannot be undone?"
I whispered, "Yes."
And he signed it right there in front of us and said, "It is done."
I tried not to sob in his chambers.
It was done. Finished. We could not change it. Finally.
There was nothing we could add to make Bradley more ours. Nothing he could have done to be more ours. It was over.
And I wonder again, was this God giving me a peek into His heart? When Jesus proclaimed, "It is finished." and gave up His soul, it really was over. Nothing else could have been done to redeem us MORE, to save us MORE. We bring nothing to the redemption table. Jesus paid it all. There is nothing left to be done. We can now be His.
What beauty we find at the cross. What finality. What redemption. What grace.
And we are only the recipients. God fights for us, and we become His heirs.
That is Easter.
And here I have to pause. I do not want to paint myself as a savior in any way. Adam and I did not save anyone. We don't have that ability. We are ONLY Bradley's parents. That's it. And I always hesitate to use our family's story as part of the gospel in adoption narrative because I realize that as the parallels progress it is easy to look at the adoptive parents as "God figures." Let me assure you WE ARE NOT in any way. Just ask my kids! What I do want to clearly convey is my deep appreciation of God's love for us, the battle He wages for us.
With deep love,
Baylor
