They’re All My Kids
The other day, well, really, at least once a week for the last 15 years plus or minus, I’ve heard a phrase uttered over and over, usually in response to the way God has built my family: “Don’t you want your own kids?”
Other iterations sound like, “Is he your own kid?”, or “Which one is your own kid?” Oh my word! The mommy bear in me has been roaring and I have to set something straight…They are all my kids!
God doesn’t esteem blood above everything–that’s Old Testament thinking in a New Testament world. Christ’s blood handled it all, and ever since that moment, we’ve all been adopted. God doesn’t have levels of kids, and with all the things in my life that have been folly or faithless, in this specific instance, I am so on board that it’s ridiculous.
I’m his adopted daughter–but I don’t think God looks at me like that. I think He says, “Jacqui, you are my precious and beloved daughter.” Sometimes it may sound more like this: “Jacqui, you are my stressed out and drama-riddled daughter.” But always, He refers to me as His daughter; there is no prefix, no clarifying adjective. I’m just His girl.
That’s how I see my family. They are just my kids. I’ve nursed them all, told them night night’s, prayed over them, and placated their sibling rivalries. I’ve been a mommy medic and a parental police woman. In short, I’ve mothered them because after years and prayers and tears and waiting, they are here. Some were born of my body, and some were born of another woman’s body, but all of them prompt a special spark in my heart.
So for all you mommies out there: No matter how your motherhood came about, they are your kids, just like my children are my kids, and just like we’re all God’s kids.
Because of this, I remain eternally grateful for the way God has pieced together my family.