I sat quietly, remembering the ordeal on the mountain. I’d killed two of the “Krauts,” as Dad called them. And that bothered me. Had bothered me since Mom told me the search team found two dead Germans in the woods. Helmut and Mueller. Men with families, wives, children, a country they thought they were defending. Men with eternal souls, now lost forever. Sitting there on the porch, not rocking in my chair, not sipping at Mom’s extra-sweet iced tea, I said a silent prayer for the families of the two men I’d killed and for the Germans thousands of miles away whose lives were turned upside down at the close of the war.
“What’s the matter, son?”
I looked at my dad and my brother and felt that all-too-familiar lump rise in my throat. When I opened my mouth to speak I was afraid sobs instead of words would flow, but instead a wave of words washed out, emptying my soul of the emotion I’d kept dammed up inside it since the rescue. “Dad, Henry, I love you two. I love Aaron too. And Mom. And I’m glad Pop is okay. So glad he’s okay. When I was on that mountain, alone, knowing that if I didn’t do something—something—I would lose all three of you, I felt like my world had crashed in on me. I knew that if it was up to me, we’d all be lost. Dead. And Mom . . . she’d be alone. Until Aaron came home. And Aaron would have to come home to more death and sorrow. I know Aaron’s okay, Dad. He’s okay. He’ll make it home to us and we’ll be together as a family again. Whole.”
By the time I finished, the tears flowed freely. I wiped at them with my sleeves, sniffed, and looked at Dad then Henry. Dad’s eyes sparkled like jewels; Henry’s chin quivered and two ribbons of tears connected his eyes to his jaw line.
“I’m sorry,” I said, not sure why I was apologizing. “I love you two so much. And Dad, I’ll work the farm as much as you need me to. I don’t mind at all. Just tell me what to do.”
Dad reached out his hand, and I placed mine in his. It was big and thick and calloused and sent a wave of warm memories through my body. I hadn’t held my dad’s hand since I was a small child and he used to walk me through the fields explaining how the crops grew from tiny seeds. “Son,” he said, tears filling his eyes. “I’m proud of you. Real proud.” His voice cracked on the second proud, and I knew he was sincere.
Some say that people never change.
I disagree.
People can change. Do change.
Afterword
When we first embarked on this adoption journey I saw myself as some kind of rescuer. Admittedly, that's a somewhat selfish view of the situation but the reality was that our intentions were to take a young lady from a life where her prospects were not good and bring her into our family where her prospects would be potentially much better.
It's more complicated than that but you get the point.
Please understand, I didn't see us as saviors pulling this young lady from the miry clay to set her feet on shiny new land but it was, in fact, a kind of rescue. Trafficking is a major problem in her homeland. Orphans are seen as occupying the lowest rung on the social ladder. We are planning to bring her to the land of opportunity, welcome her into a family, make her a member of our family, and shower her with love.
Is that not a rescue of sorts?
But something about the whole rescuer thing didn't sit right with me. It didn't feel right. But I couldn't put my finger on what did feel right.
Then I read this quote by David Platt, president of the Southern Baptist Convention's International Mission Board:
It's important to realize that we adopt not because we are rescuers. No, we adopt because we are rescued.
That was it. That was what I was looking for. It made sense. It touched that right place in my heart and said, "Yes, this is truth."
See, I was once lost. I was without a home. Without a family. I was on my own with no prospects for the future. And God rescued me. He lifted me out of that dire situation and welcomed me into His family, made me His own, His child. He rescued me.
And that's why we're adopting. Not because we're some sort of superhero rescuers. Not because we feel she would have no future without our intervention. We're adopting because we were adopted; we were rescued. And we believe we were rescued, not to hold the grace we were shown close to our chest, not to keep it to ourselves and enjoy our new-found freedom on our own, but to pay it forward and share with someone else what was shared with us. To give what was given. To tell of the love we were shown, the Home we were given, and to testify of the Father who gave so much to make us His own. And not just to tell it but to live it.
Isn't that what the Christian life is all about? I mean, isn't that what it's really about?
About the Author
Mike Dellosso is the author of nine novels of suspense, an adjunct professor of creative writing and popular conference teacher, a husband, and a father. When he’s not lost in a story or working or spending time with his family he enjoys reading and dabbling in pencil sketching. Mike is also a colon cancer survivor and healthcare worker. Born in Baltimore, Mike now resides in southern Pennsylvania with his wife and four daughters.
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