Lucky

I've not ever been a fan of lucky.  The word, that is.  I've not found many (any) situations to be chance, accidental, or coincidental.  Mostly, it grinds on me because it takes all credit away from the ONE, who really governs life and breath, action and the end.  You can imagine then, how it unnerves me to hear how lucky Mezekir is to call us mom and dad.  I don't like this for a gamut of reasons, but let's just start by my saying, really, there is NO luck involved here.  Yes, I do understand the manner in which it is intended.  Really, though, nothing in his life, our situation, his placement, or our parenting him revolves around luck.  Nothing.


Holding him yesterday, wondering about his first months, my mind wondered back to his beginnings.  I thought too much of Awtash, his first mom.  I grieved just remembering her story.  His story.  Then, I thought of the other children I know, who are with their second families.  Some saw their parents die of starvation, some of water borne parasites/illness, a few whose father murdered their mother, some the product of rape, some whose mother's died in childbirth and fathers followed soon after and families couldn't afford to feed them, some whose parents contracted HIV and died of AIDS, a few whose parents were children themselves, some, who poverty stripped of all dignity and opportunity until what was left was not even recognizable as a person, others who were simply born "imperfect" in a system that only apprises perfection.  I could go on, but you get the point.  In every circumstance, there is grief, hurt, human failure, affects of sin, unfairness, but then the shining glimmer of God's redemption and sovereignty.  This is not luck.  How obtuse to refer to the situations that jerk children out of the precious grip of their families and culture and into another home as lucky.


I suppose this goes back to our sense that the best place for any child is here, in America, being westernized, surrounded by materialism and luxury.  The idea that somehow I'm a savior to my son and his story frustrates.  I'm not amazing.  I am just human, a failure often, impatient and myopic, sometimes even bossy and unkind or downright nasty.  I promise I didn't save Mez.  That is the work of One far greater.  It is not a result of my parenting him.  He doesn't owe me an extra ounce of gratitude or kindness.  Nor is America the answer to the problems in Ethiopia.   Don't get me wrong, adoption is vital to the lives of orphans.  Orphans are suffering.  Left as orphans, they are more likely to incur more pain, suffering, and hopelessness.  But we are not their saviors.


"Luck" for my son, would have looked like being born into a country that could support its people, to a mother and father, who could provide for his needs, a family that celebrated his first breath, hope of education and a future, and an enmeshment into a people and country that share his same history.  Sovereignty and redemption, on the other hand, placed him into my arms, life, and heart.  Luck, in my opinion, is best left to blackjack, poker, and lottery tickets.