The midnight realities of adoption
And the hope in the incarnation of Christ. Plus: a belated thank you, Better Call Saul, and Psalm 1 but its winter.
At the end of a family Advent devotional time a few weeks ago, I closed with this prayer from the Book of Common Prayer’s right-before-bed liturgy:
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.
James made a comment about remembering how good it was to pray that prayer when loved ones were dying last year.
James may not have been thinking about his deceased biological father when he said these words. But his words opened up something in Rain, our middle child. She started talking about her bio parents. I took Lily and James to bed, and when I came back upstairs, Lindsey and Rain were still talking on the couch. I sat next to Rain and listened as she wished, through tears, that she had memories of her bio parents. That she could talk to them. She saw James experience all of these things last year. And now here she was, grieving people she has no solid memories of. People she has never really talked about much before, even. She sat there in our living room wishing that her bio parents would read the Bible and decorate their homes for Christmas and believe in Jesus.
We told her that she was grieving. Lindsey shared how her own parents got divorced when she was young and didn’t grown up with her dad around much—but that God provided for her in other ways, and even went on to restore her relationship with her dad later on in life. Then she told Rain the even though she doesn’t know her biological dad, she has a real dad who will be her’s forever.
Rain kind of smiled at this. We hugged her and told her that it’s okay to grieve the hard things. And to be thankful for God’s kindness and the story he’s writing with her life.
In the middle of this conversation, Rain said something about how, sometimes, she thinks about her bio parents when she’s going to bed at night and cries. I honestly don’t know if that’s true or not. But I suppose it is. Or that it could be true. We all have something that keeps us up “when half-spent was the night.” It is equally as true that these unanswerable black gaps in our personal narratives can be filled in the light of Jesus’s redemption.
Lindsey and I are oddly glad that Rain is verbalizing these wishes and longings and griefs. It’s good and healing. It is a way to look beyond the midnight hour to the sunrise that’s creeping over the horizon in a certain gray hope.
The bio parent conversations can swing wildly from one instance to another.
Fast forward two nights. It’s late, we didn’t do any reading or praying together as a family before putting the kids to bed. I am in the kitchen putting food in the fridge. Rain walks up and says that she wants to talk about her bio parents. “Nope, not tonight,” I said. “It’s late and we talked about them the other night and I’m tired and we just need to go to bed.”
Dad Of The Year candidate, right here.
As far as I know, she slept through the night.
Thank you
2022 was an amazing year. I moved the newsletter from TinyLetter to Substack. I launched SideNotes.com. Y’all kept reading and sharing and replying and heart-ing. You were patient through longer silent spells (like the last two months). Sharing stories from my family’s life and the occasional deep dive into Midwest emo with you is a real treat. Nay, it’s a privilege. Thanks for walking with me.
If this newsletter has been good for you, or you know someone who would appreciate it, consider upgrading to a paid subscription or gifting a paid subscription. You can get an annual subscription for only $56 through the end of January instead of the standard $70 subscription fee. That’s 20% off for all you math-challenged liberal arts majors. I see you.
Good reads: No country for Saul Goodman
Better Call Saul wrapped its season finale in mid-August. I wrote a review / reflection or sorts for Mockingbird that ran three months later. I’m emailing you about that two months post-publication. You’re welcome! There are spoilers aplenty here, so if you haven’t finished the series yet, maybe hold off until that one unbelievable thing happens that makes your jaw hit the floor.
Poet’s corner
Did you know that today is the last of the 12 days of Christmas? It is. So here’s my Christmas gift to you: a poem I wrote about finding “bare abundance” in winter (H/T Christian Wiman) while keeping an eye on the coming spring. Merry Christmas.
Psalm 1
But in winter.
The cottonwoods by the river
bring forth white fruit
in the bare abundance
of this season.
The common goldeneye
delights in the law of the Lord,
submerging himself day and night,
diving to the depths of its water.
Ice shelves encrust the bank,
but the Lord knows the way of the current,
and the deep freezes
will not stand in the way of spring.