Twice Adopted

When I was born, I had to be rushed to the hospital. After doing some analysis of my surroundings and situations, the State of Michigan decided that it would be best for me to be placed into a foster home. After 2 years in that home, and having very little contact with the people who gave birth to me, I was adopted into a loving home.

Now, when I was born, my mother had left me face first in the receptacle in which I was born. Her husband had come and had gotten me out, and had me sent to the hospital.

Because of my lack of care at my birth, the doctors said that I had the possibility of being blind, and also mentally retarded. My parents loved me anyway, and took care of me in a non-preferential way.

Now, let me tell you about my parents. My dad worked at an assembly plant for one of the Big 3, and provided well for us. My parents were both in their 40s at the time of my birth, so they had a lot of experience with children, and also had some older children of their own. I was adopted into a rather large family, I had at least 5 older brothers and sisters, but my mother was a foster parent, so we always had at least 6 kids in our home at all times. And because of her equal treatment of all parties, I always thought they were my brothers and sisters . . . Even when they left.

So, back to my dad. He was a large man, 6'4", 330 lbs. And melted like sugar when we were around. He had the biggest heart for children of any man I met, and gave me every desire of my heart. He was my model of the perfect man. He’d go to work, come home sweaty, dirty, and exhausted, but after his shower, he’d plop down on the floor, and wrestle with all 6 of us. We’d sit on him, lay on him, he was our own personal pillow. He’d clean and dress my boo boos when I fell off my bike, He’d always be quick to kiss all of my ouches, and promise me that it was all better, because he’d kissed it. And because I knew my daddy didn’t lie to me, although it still hurt, I just believed it was all better. He was a great dad. I remember him endless times holding out his pinky for me to hold before we’d cross the street, or throwing me over his shoulder to carry me home from school when I was sick, or too tired to walk. Sometimes I’d pretend to be sick just to be carried home. He’d let me fall asleep on his lap at night, and then carry me to my room and tuck me in, and give me a kiss on my forehead or cheek. He’d rescue me from the Jungle Gym when I was too scared to climb down, or from the monkey bars when I was stuck. He was a very patient man, a great cook, and loved me like no one I’ve ever met since then. That is, until I was adopted again.

Let me tell you the events that occured at my second adoption. Now, I was born spiritually dead, as everyone is, because I was born in sin. I was supposed to be spiritually retarded, and blind, due to my birth. But the God of Heaven put conviction into my heart, and although it hurt my conscience, he made a way of escape. My dad owns the cattle on a thousand hills, and has always provided for us. "Come and dine the Master calleth, come and dine." I used to wonder as we sang at church, "What does that mean?" I thought, "Maybe Jesus is a good cook, and when I get to heaven, he’ll have a great feast for me." I had no idea that I was only scratching the surface. Now when I got saved, I was welcomed into the family of God with open arms, and un-prejudicially. I never had any doubts that Jesus Christ loved me unconditionally. Not only did he forgive me of all of my sins, and gave me a free pass from all of my burdens and cares, but he was also a Great Daddy. He’d work all day, and when I was ready, and came to spend time with him, He’d love on me, and hold me, and fill my heart with such joy. He answered my questions, and cleaned and bandaged all of my boo boos, and kissed all of my ouches. He always had his hand out for me to hold onto, even when I wasn’t crossing the street, and He carried me when I wasn’t feeling well. Here’s the best part . . . He loved me like I was his natural child. He never treated me any differently. He promised me an inheritance along with his other children. He had a lot of children, too, but none of them were treated any differently than me. He always has time for me, and always loves on me, when I spiritually ‘crawl into his lap’. He’s a great cook, too. You should taste that steak and potatoes that come from the pulpits I’ve had the honor of tasting from. And you always walk away full, right up to the top. God is so good.

Now, in my earthly family, I do have some family who are apt to make comments like, "she should be more appreciative, you took her in, and she’s not even your flesh." "You don’t even have to take care of her. She’s not even your family." But my mom would always say, "Yes she is, and you don’t say any different. She is my family, just as much as your kids are yours."

When I was first saved, there were people in my spiritual family that said, "You’re not really a child of God, or else you would’ve spoke in tongues," or "God would have revealed it to me if you were saved, and he hasn’t," or "You’re still sinning, once you’re saved, you’ll never sin again." But my Father stood up and said, "It isn’t true. She is mine, and you don’t say any different. No one can pluck her out of my hand."

In my earthly family, my father died. My brother took over for my father, and due to the tremendous pressure on his shoulders, was often cruel to us. In my heavenly family, Jesus died, but in 3 days, He rose again, and will never again die. But I do sometimes have brothers who are cruel to me, and my family, but my Heavenly Daddy steps up, and always gives ‘em a whipping, and gives us His Grace to keep going and fighting the good fight of faith in His Name.

When I was adopted on Earth, I was given the name Locke. When I was adopted in Heaven, I was given the names "Child of God, priest and king."

I just had to write this, when I thought of all of the similarities there are between my earthly adoption, and my spiritual one. There are other similarities, too, like my longing for my flesh and blood.

I remember on my 12^th birthday, my mom yelled at me, and told me to get out of the house, she was busy. I went across the street to the play ground, and sat on the swings, in the drizzle, and as I felt the rain on my head, the tears ran down my cheeks. I used to wonder if my birth mother knew it was my birthday. I wondered, if I saw her, if she would tell me Happy Birthday. I remember wondering why she gave me up for adoption, and I used to wonder what she looked like. I had such a hunger in my soul, just to look on her face, and see if I looked like her. I wanted to just be able to touch her hand, even if she couldn’t know it was me, just so I could feel flesh like my flesh, and know that the same blood that was in her, was in my veins as well. I also wanted to see my brother and sister, and know if they knew about me, and if they loved me, and I had such a desire to be accepted by all of them. I wanted desperately to know that I was loved by them, and I wasn’t just shoved aside . . . a piece of garbage that no one wanted, and undesirable. I wanted to know that she really couldn’t take care of me, and that’s why she gave me up, and not that I was just ugly, or inconvenient, or unwanted. I sat there on that swing, with tears pouring down my face, wondering if she was trying desperately to find me, or if she was maybe watching me from a car somewhere, afraid to approach me, for fear of her being rejected for leaving me so long ago. So desperately, I wanted her to know that if she wanted me, that I wanted her too. Maybe not for a mom, but for a permanent friend. I did have a very good mom, but I had this emptiness in my heart, that I felt I needed to be filled with my flesh and blood.

Now, that undescribable feeling is exactly, exactly how I feel about my Christ’s return. I long to see his face, I long to be able to touch His hand, and feel the hand of my Father. I long to see the One with whom I have the same blood running through my Spiritual veins, because, He is the one that gave it to me. I know that he is thinking of me, and I know that he loves me unconditionally. He is sitting in heaven, waiting to come down to me. Longing for me to know how much he longs for us to be together forever. Being loved with such love, and just waiting for that day when I can see and hold, and love my Christ, and look upon the face of the one who died for me, is unbearable. I sit here, with tears running down my face, wishing and waiting to see Him who loves me so.

I have a wonderful life. I have unconditional love from my husband, my children, my family, my church families, both at Open Door, and Canaan. But just like when I was a child, I have that longing in my heart, that can only be filled by the eternal Presence of being with God. Just like then, I do have a good home, a good life, and I am very grateful when I look back, for where God has brought me from, in both adoptions. But there’s just something inborn into every adopted son of God, that makes only Him the true fulfillment.

I did, eventually, get to meet my birth family. I did get to look on all of their faces. And it gave me a sense of relief, to look into eyes that matched mine, and hold the hand of the one who gave birth to me. And to know that I was accepted, regardless of my family ties.

And I will, eventually, get to meet my Heavenly Birth Father. The One who created me, who knew me from my mothers womb. The One who called me His child, and shed His very blood to save me from eternal hell. He saved me from my sins, and myself. But until then, I just have to keep watching. I will be one of those who are "Blessed" for being found watching when he comes, if he comes in my lifetime. (If not, then it’s even better, because I will rise first: )

Now, I would be remiss if I didn’t speak of my life now. I was adopted into the heart and life of my husband, Pastor Andrew Grosjean. He has shown me the unconditional love of God in every action he does for me. Every day, he is the perfect model of Gods grace, he speaks the words of God to me, to help me to grow, and he has the kind of faith that moves mountains. I have been honored to be his wife, and am honored to spend every day of my life with this man. His kind of godliness in his personal life, as well as his public, is a very rare, and real evidence of a close walk with his Savior. I am so grateful for his example to me of what a Christian should be. Thank God for the dedication, and endurance, and loyalty, he has shown in our lives, as he walks with Christ.

I am also grateful for our churches, who opened their arms wholeheartedly to our family, our children. Praise God for their kindness to us.

I just had a burden to share this story with someone. I hope it helps you to look for His Coming, too, or encourages you in the Lord. In Christ,

Glenda