After adopting Daryl, my folks had quite a busy year. They were busy with Daryl’s eye surgeries, work, and ministry. Dad was pastoring a mission on the lower east side of Detroit that met in a storefront. Edison and Beulah remained unsettled about their family but trusted God would add if He saw fit. Though they confessed that they felt taking on another older child with health and emotional issues might be too overwhelming for all of them.. But one day, the phone rang from the agency, and Mrs. G. She relayed they had a baby girl who needed a home. If there was interest, they needed to come down to the agency as soon as possible; Mrs. G informed them that the baby was 3 months old and had been in the same foster home since birth, and the birth mother had just signed the surrender. They called a few friends, asked for prayer, left Daryl with church friends, and came to see me at the agency where the foster mother had brought me. I went home with them the following weekend for a visit. My mother said it was love at first sight. She said she also knew she would no longer be the only girl in Dad’s life from that minute on. Daryl, on the other hand, needed a lot of explanation and reassurance. In previous foster homes, when a baby arrived, this meant a change of home for Daryl. They assured him he would stay and could help me change my name and be a big brother to a little sister. Daryl took this job very seriously, and some of my earliest memories are of his tender care. One memory, in particular, stands out.
I was in Kindergarten, and Daryl was in 4th grade. We were walking home from school, and it was a rainy, cold day in the Detroit fall. He had a raincoat and galoshes but no umbrella. I had a sweater on and had left my less than fashionable rain slicker at home. It was pouring, and I began to cry. Daryl unbuttoned his raincoat and said, “Wrap your arms around my waist and step on my boots.” He buttoned me in, and we walked the remaining blocks home-like Frankenstein, with Daryl balancing us both on his rubber galoshes. The feeling of protection and warmth from his little body has never been forgotten.
Though we struggled as all siblings do with jealousy, bickering, sharing, etc., we also shared a deep alliance based on our chosen commonality. We knew this, and we both knew we were deeply loved. But we had arrived into a family differently than our cousins and friends. We shared this like a pact from a secret organization even until his death. When he was in hospice, I begged him to tell me where he buried my barbie dolls, but between labored breaths, he smiled and relayed that some things should remain a mystery. We laughed about him putting me in the clothes chute requiring rescue from the fire dept. We howled with laughter over Daryl adding red food coloring to my bath water after watching the ten commandments. I cried and told him I wished I had a raincoat for him. He told me it was okay and reminded me I had always been a slave to fashion, not need. When he took his last breath, God told me Daryl’s wandering days were over. I would have to live the chosen life without the person who understood my roots. After this, my parents seemed frailer and my mom would follow my brother in 2008, and my dad left for heaven in 2010,
These would be hard years, but God, the faithful comforter, used these losses to ground me in ways I had never been grounded before. I now carried the assurance that I had been chosen to stay behind as the remnant for God’s purpose in my family. My father on his deathbed, said he would have to leave me sooner or later, and I said later sounded better. He just shook his head, smiled, and told me it would be sooner. Dad told me, “I’ve got more in heaven now than here. You will be okay. God was with you directing your days those first 3 months. He won’t let you down now. Hold to the thought that God has always been your security and He is your security now; you were chosen as a Royal priesthood, a holy nation, called out of darkness into light.” (This is from 1 Peter 2:9, my life verse that my dad said God gave him shortly before they would meet me). Dad pressed me not to return to darkness. My family’s deaths, especially my dad, my life long best friend, left me re-arranged, but finishing the life of the chosen and honoring what God had accomplished in the lives of my folks kept me going. It served to remind me, the adoption of us by our heavenly Father is eternal. Even death cannot nor will not change that! Hallelujah!!
When I consider all the choices set before me in life, it reminds me that none of us know where the next choice will lead, But God does. He patiently waits for us to choose what He has brought to us or lead us to, cheering us on the whole way to choose life. For in choosing to follow Christ, this is what we desire. Life in all of its abundance and adventure, gains and losses. Every day I have the opportunity to live the chosen life. That is to embrace the life God has chosen for me. This is where blessing abides, and peace resides.
I hope you will join the 5 o’clock workers’ endeavors to glean what God can teach through living the life of the chosen when a baby leaves the bulrushes.
5oclockworker.com 