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The only thing written on the note was her date of birth and the words, “Please take care of this baby girl.” Otherwise, the box was empty, save her tiny frame. Nowhere on the note was there any indication of her name or her parentage. She would always wonder who she was.
None of my five other adopted siblings could even claim a note to aid in their identification. Other than their various physical disabilities, what set each one apart from the nameless, faceless masses? Forgotten at birth, it seemed, set aside, without even a note to indicate identity or belonging. But Someone was watching each one.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. (Psalm 139:15 NKJV)
More precious than little sparrows, not one of which goes overlooked by the Lord, these children landed in our nest. Here they received the names that they were lacking, and a new sense of identity. Yet the questions lurked within; “To whom do I belong? Who am I really?”
Despite the fact that I was born to two loving and accepting parents who cherished me and gave me a name, I asked those same questions. Culture to culture and nation to nation, despite our varied backgrounds, our hearts still yearn to know, “To whom do I belong? Who am I really?”
I remember the day I received my note. It wasn’t written on paper, but on my heart, and it was inscribed with the same simple message as that of my tiny, adopted sister; the date and the request, “Please take care of this little girl.” For it was on that day that I, as an adult, accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior and Lord, and became part of His family. I pray you have a similar note of adoption. For with that note comes the promise that “They shall see His face, and His name shall be on their foreheads,” (Rev. 22:4 NKJV). What a fulfillment of our desire for identification!
If you find yourself abandoned, wondering to whom you belong, or who you really are, I pray you’ll get your note. We’re all up for adoption, and your Father is waiting.
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