A Deeper Story

As a little girl I understood Christmas connected to a certain salvation story. Jesus came into the world to die on the cross and rise to save us. Even the Old Testament prophesied this storyline. Christmas was the beginning of the end, or at least the first movement toward eternity. The coming and saving of Jesus would, eventually, launch us into heavenly mansions amid incandescent cloudscapes. So I grew up believing the opening salvo of salvation was Christmas. But my…

No child chooses her family or handpicks his mother. We don’t pick our church of origin, either. It’s given to us as naturally as mother’s milk, a nourishing force that comes to us before we know how hungry we are for faith. My birth family most likely was Catholic, judging from the fact that they turned to a Catholic adoption agency with an unwanted pregnancy. Handing me over to nuns instead of nurses must have meant something. It was through…

Last week I posted some thoughts on the nature of adoption over on Deeper Family. As an adopted child and adoptive mother I’ve heard my share of uneducated and thoughtless comments regarding adoption. As a member of the company of the adopted, I felt the need to raise my voice and testify to another experience – my own. I’m the well-adjusted adopted child who always knew she was adopted and celebrated being wanted by a loving family. Growing up adopted…

I’m adopted. I adopted my two children. There – all my cards on the table. Now let me share the quickest way to undermine that sacrament which bookends my experience of family – say it’s not natural. I’ve heard it more than once, but read it more often now that blogs abound and adoption talk moves like a spark through dry brush. Adoption is harder because it’s not natural, so be patient through the process – that’s what they say.…

Isles of orange and black everywhere, black cats crossing my field of vision and plastic caldrons brewing imagined worlds of fear. Surely ghoulish creatures prowl the moonlit streets of our neighborhoods this week, so beware. Except that I’m haunted by holiness more often than not (and more than anything else). A plunge in the pit of my stomach, chills racing up my spine, a subtle shudder alert me to a Presence unseen but sensed. I catch myself craning over my…

When was I baptized? When did my new identity hit me like the shocking sting of cold water to the lungs after a deep plunge? When did I come up gasping for air noticing everything around me looked different – brighter, truer? When did my identification with Christ recalibrate my compass, change my direction in this world? It wasn’t when I was sprinkled as an infant in the secure arms of my mother. It wasn’t when I was dunked into…