adoption and the weathered cheeks of god

A few days ago, my sister Amy officially adopted Mia, a precious, vibrant little girl that she had fostered since Mia was still a newborn in the hospital.

The scene was memorable. And while I was mesmerized by the "creation" of a family and intrigued by the perspective of a child being gracefully (and perhaps unknowingly) being accepted into a larger whole that took her solely on hope and love, there was another aspect of the adoption that I felt compelled to search deeper.

You see, the obvious parallel with adoption is our own adoption by an omnipotent God, who rescues us from our personal disaster to cradle us in his merciful arms. But I don't recall ever hearing about the overwhelming joy experienced by the sacrificial parent on the day that the union is made official, on the day that the family is created.

I watched my sister beam through the ceremony, smiling as she struggled to hold back tears. She was so proud. It must have been a moment of incredible validation for her. I cannot imagine the emotions that poured from her heart and coursed through her veins. It must have been overwhelming. And it gets me thinking about the way that the sovereign God must feel (if that's the right word as I don't feel completely right assigning my limited human emotive responses to what God is capable of) when one of "His" (or "Her", no matter to me) children is made official. Do tears stream down weathered cheeks?

I would hope, no matter the possibilities, that the scene wouldn't vary much from the one I witnessed a few days ago. Broken was made whole. Lost was found. Darkness was made light. A child, once abandoned, once homeless, came home.