God, the Gospel, and the Global Cause of Christ: Reflections on Adoption

They call it a “paper pregnancy.”  It’s the period of time between the conception and finalization of your adoption.  There’s no positive pregnancy test, no hormonal upheaval, no morning sickness, no amazing ultrasounds, no growing belly, no random food cravings, no little feet-kicks coming from the womb, and no agonizing labor pains and delivery.  Yet each of these finds its reflection in the paper pregnancy.

Ours was nineteen months long.  We decided to adopt in December of 2005, and I picked up my wife and our 18-month-old Ugandan son at the airport on July 13, 2007.  Our positive pregnancy test was the U.S. government’s acceptance of our application.  Our hormonal turmoil was the onslaught of emotions that flow from the ups and downs of pioneer adoptions in African countries.  The morning sickness came in frustrations of all kinds, from paperwork pains to cross-governmental headaches to the dizziness and nausea caused by the rollercoaster of international bureaucracy.  The surreal ultrasound came in the first picture we ever received of the baby boy we were “matched up” with, and the periodic arrival of pictures over the months functioned as so many kicks and somersaults in the womb reminding us that our son was real, alive, and growing.  As the process lengthened, the anticipation bulged, and at the end of it all came the agonizing labor pains of my wife’s second trip to Uganda and her final week in the capital city — which she will tell you was the most hectic and hair-raising week of her life.

Why go through this?  The same question that women throughout the centuries have asked in the pangs of delivery can be asked of those who have chosen to walk through a predictably intense adoption.  Why?

It wasn’t because we wanted a kid and couldn’t have one on our own.  We’re a young couple, and we actually just wanted to adopt first.  Scripture doesn’t have a Plan B view of adoption.  We’ve never discovered a verse presenting adoption simply as a second-rate way to grow a family.  We’re overjoyed at friends who decide to adopt because they can’t have biological children, and their children are no less blessed because adoption wasn’t their parents’ initial choice.  But family-building is not the main motivation for helping the fatherless.

Rather, the highest and best motivation for adopting is the gospel of Jesus Christ.  The spiritual impulse to adopt runs far deeper than cute international babies, cross-cultural experiences, and family growth.  The impulse to adopt echoes from the very heartbeat of the gospel.

We ourselves have experienced the grace of adoption, and on a much grander scale.  We were slaves of sin, but are now children of God (Romans 8:15).  God was our judge, but now He is our Father (John 1:12).  We faced a foreboding future in hell, but now we anticipate an abundant inheritance in heaven (Romans 8:16-17).  God is the Father of the fatherless (Psalm 68:5), and He has made Himself that for us through Jesus Christ.  Adoption is in our blood.  Adoption is in God’s blood.

Adoption has been called the crown jewel of redemption, because even justification and reconciliation do not have to include adoption.  God could have rescued us from sin and death without becoming our Father.  It is possible to have reconciliation without sonship, to have justification without adoption.  We could have been predestined, foreknown, called, justified, sanctified, and glorified without being adopted, because a declaration of righteousness is not the same as a declaration of sonship.  Yet those of us who are in Christ are far more than former debtors and forgiven criminals.  We are God’s children.

At 11:36 AM on Friday, November 16, 2007 at the Children’s Court in Monterrey Park, California, Judge John L. Henning declared that Judah David Mukisa Gundersen is the legal son of David and Cynthia Gundersen, with all the rights and privileges of a natural born child, including inheritance.  We swore under oath that we would treat him as such, and the judge signed the court order to that effect.  Although this was the first time we had walked through this process, these weren’t strange words to us.  For years we’ve read them in the Bible.  These words are our story.

This is why Jesus’ earliest followers wrote things like this in their letters:  “Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (James 1:27).  This call to help the helpless resounds in the heart of all who have been “visited” by God in Christ and who have been helped in our “distress.”

The need of orphans worldwide is literally incalculable.  Their “distress” is severe.  And we have the gospel, a family, and a home (in that order).  With all of this in mind, the thought of us not helping orphans is unthinkable.  We adopt, because He first adopted us (1 John 4:19).

With international adoption, there’s another element at play.  God loves diversity, and we love diversity with Him.  Unity in the midst of diversity is beautiful because it displays the singular glory of the one who binds the diversity together.  Jesus Christ is praised in the book of Revelation because, as the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders cry out, “You were slain, and purchased for God with Your blood men from every tribe and tongue and people and nation” (Revelation 5:9).  God’s family is colorful, because God is creative and because the bond of Christ is strong.  This is magnificent to us, and for as long as I can remember I’ve wanted our family to mirror this every-tribe-tongue-people-nation diversity.  The loveliest family in all the universe is God’s, and its loveliness is well worth reflecting.

Finally, a word about adoption and the global cause of Christ.  Missions means spreading the name of Jesus Christ to every nook and cranny of every people group on the planet by crossing cultures and languages and geographical boundaries to reach them, whether they be urban socialites or desert nomads or tribal villagers.  International adoption means spreading the name of Jesus Christ into the hearts and lives of every people group on the planet by crossing cultures and languages and ethnic barriers to bring the smallest and neediest of the world’s population into our homes, making them part of our families, and investing the gospel into their lives from the backyard to the dinner table to the bedside.  Adoption and the global Christian mission are inseparable.

This is why, at the end of it all, we want to bring the children of the nations into our family.  Not so that they can grow up and live the American Dream, but so that by God’s grace they can grow up and walk the narrow road.  Running water, medical care, and a sound education are precious and valuable things.  But seeing the glory of Christ, hearing the good news of salvation, finding reconciliation with God, and walking in a manner worthy of the incarnate Savior of the world is infinitely more precious.

And so we seek to adopt — as those who have been freely adopted ourselves into a beautifully diverse family unified in the death, burial, and resurrected reign of Jesus Christ; as those who have been called to the outreaching of global missions and the inbringing of Christian adoption; and as those whose hearts long not for the security and comfort of the American Dream but for radical lives of incarnational love.

Every day, I see all of this and more in the bright eyes and brilliant smile and childlike faith of my son.  I see the grace of God; I see the gospel of Christ; I see the diversity of the church; and I see the call of the Christian mission.  And perhaps most of all, I see that it is no small thing to be a child, and no small thing to have a Father.

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry out, “Abba!  Father!”  The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs — heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with Him in order that we may also be glorified with Him (Romans 8:15-17).

* Originally written for The Master’s Current (Spring 2009) 15/1, p. 14.

Our Second Adoption

Our family recently started our second adoption.  We have told many of our close friends and family, and wanted to publicize it here so that you can know and pray.  We are attempting to adopt at least two children from Rwanda, which sits on the southwest border of Uganda.  So far we have completed some initial paperwork and finished our home study.  We don’t have a prediction for how long the process will take, and even if we did, we would hesitate from putting too much stock into it after our last experience.  God has promised us bigger things than a timeline, and we desire to look to those bigger things mainly and most often.

We would deeply appreciate your prayers.  So many prayed during our last adoption, and increasingly so as things got hairy.  Eternity may reveal that this was the reason why God chose to bring it to completion — His people asked.  You can pray for the following:

1. That we might lean on God and not on our previous adoption experience.
2. That God would protect us from presumption and would keep our hands open even while parental love begins to knit our hearts to the children we meet.  That we would be wise with our hearts between the time of introduction and finalization, but that our love and affection would not be bridled.  That we might care for them as His children even before they become (or even if they never become) ours.
3. That God would continue to provide financially and that our faith would grow and blossom.  That God would grant us self-discipline and foresight in stewardship.
4. That our Father would providentially give us to the children that He has for us, and that He would prepare our hearts to respond with joy to the children He places in our family.  Ask that He would wisely oversee their number, ages, genders, health, experiences, and needs.
5. That God would fill us with clear biblical wisdom to teach our young son about the grace of adoption and the mercy of the gospel.
6. That God would help us and others not to identify ourselves as an adopting family but a Christian family, and that our relationships would be flavored with the adoption but not overwhelmed with it.
7. That God would stir others to adopt through watching us walk through the process again, and that those who are standing at the edge would jump.
8. That God would give my wife special diligence, attention to detail, perseverance, and patience as she completes the mounds of paperwork and navigates the procedural, governmental, and international issues.
9. That we would be a testimony for Christ and not for ourselves among the many government officials, orphanage workers, and inquiring strangers whose paths we will cross.
10. That God would give us the desire of our hearts by bringing two or more Rwandan orphans into our home for life.
11. That God would glorify, honor, and publicize Himself and His love for His children (including us and orphans) through this adoption.

I want to give a special, public note of thanks to the dozens of people who kicked off this adoption financially last year with a significant monetary gift that was collected to help us.  There may only be several who visit this blog – God knows who you are – but I want you to know that we are more grateful than we can say.  I can picture like yesterday the moment the gift was presented.  If the Lord wills, someday we will tell your story to some grown Rwandan children who will then realize that their family was much larger than they thought.  You have seen and have believed that God is a father to the fatherless, and you have joined Him in this.  We thank you.  May your reward in heaven be great.

I Am a Father

I suppose Father’s Day, like Mother’s Day, is meant to be a unilateral holiday.  It’s typically a one-way expression of appreciation from children to their fathers.  Yet on my second Father’s Day, I find that it’s also a personal celebration of the high privilege and unique joy of fatherhood.  It’s a day to reflect on the overwhelming happiness of being a father.

I am a father.  This means many things.

The love that I have for my son is literally inexpressible.  I don’t know of any way to fully communicate the depth of love that I have for him.  Were my life to depend on it, I could not entirely express the way I feel about my son.  It runs too deep.  This is natural, and it is supernatural.  I am a father.

One of the most gut-wrenching thoughts I have is the thought of dying before my son has grown up.  I know that God is his ultimate Father and I know that his mother is wonderfully capable.  But this does not make me satisfied with the notion of leaving him before he reaches maturity.  I do not believe that God has intended us to be happy with the idea of our children burying us.  Yes, He is good, and He works all things according to the counsel of His perfect will.  But His perfect design, which drove the creation of the original world that He called “good,” says that fathers are to raise their sons.  I want to raise my son, if God would be so gracious.  I am a father.

Watching my son grow is a distressing and joyful experience.  Distressing because I love him so much exactly how he is and I don’t want him to grow up, and joyful because as my wife faithfully reminds me, every stage has the seeds of joy in it.  This is simply the nature of the relationship.  I don’t want him to grow up because I am a father, and I rejoice to see him grow because I am a father.

I have never been imitated so much in my entire life.  He wants to do everything just like me.  When I wear shorts, he wants to wear shorts.  When I eat quickly, he competes with me.  He says he will work where I work, and he carries a wallet because I do.  When I give thanks for dinner, he watches me.  When I start a project, he helps me.  When I play sports, he runs along the sideline.  I have not yet presented him with a reasoned argument to imitate me.  He just does.  I am a father.

In so many ways I do not want him to be like me, but in a very deep and fundamental sense, I do.  I want him to love the God that I love.  I want him to care about what I care about.  I want him to live and die for the things I want to live and die for.  I want him to follow in my footsteps.  What father doesn’t?  Sons are meant to bear the image of their fathers, in so many ways.  I want my son to bear mine, as far as it is the Lord’s.  I am a father.

I love children, and I want to help them, especially those who are fatherless, broken, and oppressed.  I am moved by Jesus’ heart for children.  But I do not love other children like I love my son.  Some may see this as a deficiency.  I see it as design.  The love of a father for his child, like the love of a husband for his wife, simply cannot be mass-produced.  My love for my son is unique.  I am a father.

I care about the church and the world and the heritage that I leave behind.  Some talk, presumably with wisdom, about not caring about the condition of the planet or the state of the society or the quality of the community.  For these it is a badge of honor — the pilgrim mindset misapplied — to disregard the world’s trajectories.  But not fathers.  Fathers do not say, “I’ll be gone by then, so it doesn’t matter.”  I care about the world in which my son will live, the church to which he will belong, and the community in which he will participate.  I care deeply.  I am a father.

There is an inborn, protective intensity to a father’s love that is no less beautiful for its ferocity.  Any father whose heart is not backwards and twisted would offer his life as a shield for his child.  This is why David the son of Jesse sings, “Father of the fatherless and protector of widows is God in his holy habitation” (Psalm 68:5).  In the divine character that we are to image there is an indivisible union of fatherhood and protection.  To be a father is to be a fortress.  I am a protector.  I am a father.

This is why seeing Calvary through the lens of fatherhood is astonishing.  I see the gospel now with a clarity that was not there before.  And it is a clarity that cannot really be seen; only felt.  This is why I chose to preach on Romans 8:32 last year.  It makes so much more sense now.  I am a father.

Yet these precious riches of my fatherly blessings pale in comparison to what I have been given as a son, on earth and in heaven.  My fatherhood is a temporary shadow of the eternal reality, a faint echo of the divine proclamation, a blurred copy of the heavenly original.  The inheritance I will leave is laughable compared to the heavenly riches I have been promised in Christ.  The love, care, and protection I offer my son is simply a small silhouette created by the brilliant light of the Father’s faultless care.  Like every father before me, with the exception of one, I am a son before I am a father.  I am loved, welcomed, named, nurtured, taught, protected, enjoyed, forgiven, corrected, trained, fed, clothed, and secure.  I have a Father.

Judah’s First Year

One year ago today, Judah arrived at Los Angeles International Airport with Cindi after a 19-month adoption process.  From the first hours to the first week to the court appearance that made everything official to his second birthday, we have enjoyed a year of God’s obvious and relentless blessing.

I just spent some time reading over some old adoption posts.  What an unbelievable process, and what magnificent fruit (I don’t just mean Judah).  Thank you for your prayers throughout, and glory be to God.

To celebrate, we decided to take Judah to Chuck E. Cheese for the first time.  On the way home from church we told him we had a surprise for him.  Once we arrived home, we changed him into shorts and then I sat down with him in the hallway to make the announcement.  Remember that he has no idea what Chuck E. Cheese is.  He just knows it’s a surprise, and therefore it must be good.  If only we all trusted our Father this much.