Children. Adopted.

I got to their house yesterday, and was welcomed with shouts of "Miss Elizabeth! You're here! I drew a picture for you! It's in your bedroom!" After lots of carrying on, running around, pats on the head and laughter, we made it to 'my bedroom,' which is actually The Spare Room. I know it is the Anne in me, but I have always loved staying in Spare Rooms.

And there, on the bed, was the picture he drew for me: Me, with my name carefully and (mostly) legibly written underneath Me, and his signature below that (which is, of course, the mark of any great artiste). I admired the picture appropriately, and then observing the unique shape of 'my' arms, I asked if they were arms or wings--

"They're wings! Because you're an angel."

Thus began the most worshipful Sabbath experience of my time here yet. Those little boys (and their momma) loved on me, they invited me to play games with them, eat with them, go outside with them, mark things off their chore list with them, help them get dressed, watch God Rocks with them and more.

Children, with all of their stubborn and wily ways, are a glorious picture of the generosity of Jesus and His kingdom.

Then, this morning, I sat behind a couple in church who just adopted a newborn baby girl a couple of weeks ago. The whole time that the pastor was speaking about worshipful experiences (yes, he did), I was mesmerized by watching that couple with their baby girl. Pastor said that worshipful experiences teach us about who God is; I sat there and watched that mom and dad hold that baby, eyes filled with love, as she blinked up at them in the typical newborn shell-shocked kind of way. God, who has adopted each one of His children, holds us with hands that will not falter and gazes lovingly at us through the midst of our shell shock and fussiness. It's a rough ride, being transferred from the kingdom of darkness to the kingdom of light.

Pastor said that worshipful experiences remind us of our sinfulness in God's presence. I sat there and wondered: that baby did nothing to deserve the love of those parents. That baby girl was most likely born in adversity and adopted only through the persistence of two visionary parents. And, friend, who are we? That we should be called sons and daughters of God? Truly, our sin makes His adoption of us--His rescue of us from eternal adversity--that much more remarkable.

By this point, tears are pouring down my face. Children--who love so big and imagine so raw--invite us into the generosity of the God who is our Adoptive Father.

I knew I had to tell that couple how observing them during church had been a worshipful experience; but I almost couldn't get out the words because my spirit was (and is) so deeply moved by the fact that I am His. And He has made me His own.

What about you?