“Have you ever gone by another name or alias?”
Whenever that question pops up in a tax form I always select yes. Mostly, it just makes me chuckle that I get to fill out that field, but there is also this thankfulness of writing out my name now compared to what it was before.
When I was little my father passed away from a drug overdose. Then it was just my mom, my older sister, and I. We moved in with my grandparents and then with my mom’s best friend and her daughter. Life was great from what I could tell as a little kid, I didn’t really know what I was missing. A couple of years later, my mom introduced us to someone she was dating – Rodd. Even though I was about 4 years old, I remember the first time I met him. We were playing Hungry Hungry Hippos and he jumped in to play with us and won. I was not happy about that and I made sure he knew it. My mom was so embarrassed by the fit I threw and was afraid he might not want to come back. But he did—and when he returned, he brought a wiffle ball bat and ball and taught me how to swing in the basement. (I don’t remember breaking things, but I do remember crushing it.) He kept showing up, teaching me, spending time with me, showing me what it looks like to be a guy. It wasn’t long before they married, and it wasn’t long after that he adopted my sister and me. He was now my dad. We were now Russows.
I continually realize more and more the weight of my adoption as I get older. My dad took on a role he wasn’t required to. He didn’t have kids of his own and so in adopting us we truly became his kids. He taught us, disciplined us, hugged us, read to us, fed us, supplied and supported us. He taught me hard work, discipline, and how to give it my all. He taught me that we should root for the Cubs no matter what. He always showed up to every sports event, school or church play. Whatever it was, my dad was there. What amazes me is that being my dad was something he chose to be, not something he was required to do. He didn’t have to, but he welcomed me into his family, gave me his last name, and cared for me as his own.
Our God has done the same with us. Romans 8:15-17 claims that we have been adopted as children of God. We are no longer strangers, we have been brought into the family, we’ve been given a new name and our Father cares for us as his own. We become heirs of the King, given full rights as his children. We are inheritors of what the King has and we also represent him as his family. That’s a big gift and a big responsibility.
There have been many times when I worried that if I didn’t do the right thing, my dad might leave or stop showing up. In my relationship with the Lord, I have often believed that I needed to simply do the right thing or be good enough for Him to approve of and accept me. Yet, there is no earning an adoption, there’s nothing I could have done to earn a spot in my dad’s family. There’s nothing I could have done that would have made me his kid. I was 5 years old – there’s not much I’m bringing to the table, and anything I did have, he didn’t need. Yet, my dad welcomed me with open arms. I think that’s how God sees us, as these children of his. We don’t have to bring anything but ourselves to God. Because what we think we can bring, he doesn’t need, and yet, he welcomes us with open arms.
How amazing is it we have a Father who adopts us as his own, who cares for us as THE loving Father, who teaches us and walks with us, who gives us a new name.
Unfortunately, though, I don’t think tax forms will accept that as an alias.
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