No Longer a Slave, but a Son.

January 13: Galatians 4:4-7

The family of one of my close friends is getting ready to adopt a baby boy.  I love listening to my friend talk about this little boy.  Her eyes light up, and her naturally contagious smile is even more astounding when she talks about this little boy's becoming a part of her family.  She jokes about bringing him to school with her, and she hangs pictures of him on her wall.  She has told me stories about the way that her family interacts with him, and one thing is incredibly clear.  This little boy is very, very loved.

As I read this passage, I was reminded of this little boy.  I thought of the way that he is loved by my friend's family.  He hasn't done anything to warrant their adopting him.  He still wakes up crying in the middle of the night.  He'll need a lot of training, and it'll cost my friend's family money to take care of giving him food and clothes.  This little boy hasn't done anything to deserve the love that my friend and her family are showing him, but every day, their love for him grows.  It's a beautiful, wonderful thing to think that this is the way God loves us.

"No longer a slave, but a son."

That's nice, I thought as I read this passage, but some things really suck right now.  I know I'm a child of God and everything, but seriously?  Sometimes I feel so sad.  So lonely.  So hopeless.  

"No longer a slave, but a son."

Again, I read on. Past the passage suggested for the day, on to Galatians 4:9

"But now that you have come to know God, or rather are known by God, how can you turn back again to the weak and worthless elementary principles of the world, whose slaves you want to be once more?"

 A lot of times, I choose to reject the hope that I find in scripture.  I choose to reject joy and to hold on to the things that are familiar to me.  When I read scripture and say, "that's nice, but..."  I am choosing not to "entrust my soul to a faithful creator."  I am rejecting my place as a daughter, and demanding the life of a slave.  It would be the very same as this little boy growing up and continuing to live like a foster child, even though he has been adopted by my friend's family.

Well, that's ridiculous!

Yes, yes it is.

All of this is not to say that we ignore our feelings of sadness, lonliness, grief, or pain, but that we run to the one whom we call "Abba, Father," rather than running from him.  Rather than rejecting his adoption because things aren't easy, we cling to the Truth that our Father has spoken to us and entrust our souls to his unfailing love.

It is not easy.  It will always be more painful to choose joy, because, when we choose joy, we have to surrender control of our suffering to someone else.

But that someone else is very capable, very trustworthy, and very loving.

God, teach us to willingly accept our dependence on your Holy Spirit and to cast ourselves onto the one by whose unfailing love and grace we may cry "Abba, Father."