When I was a little girl, my younger sister and I were adopted into a fairly typical family—a dad, a mom, and two older sisters. It was a daunting time for a me—oh how I wanted to fit in, to be accepted, and most of all, to be loved. Figuring out where my place was and who I was in that setting was a challenge. Everyone else had always been there. I had just arrived, what rights did I have? Could I actually participate in family activities? Where did I belong or even did I belong there?

Adding to the confusion, the entire family—grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—lived within a mile of each other. Three sets of aunts and uncles, a set of grandparents, and 11 cousins. It made for lively company during snowstorms or hot summer days down at the pond, but belonging was what I wanted more than anything, and that quest was at the heart of almost everything I did.

One day, some months into the school year I came home with my report card. My birth grandmother was a schoolteacher and had begun to teach me to read and write when I was four. School was pretty much a breeze for me (although math continues to be my thorn in the flesh to this day,) so my report card was reasonable for a fifth grader. When I brought home my report card someone said, "You had better go see if this is good enough for Grandpa Baker to sign."

What? What did that mean? I was told that if I had a good enough report card that Grandpa would sign it, it was very good indeed. So off I went, scurrying 60 feet down the path to the house next door. I can still plainly see my Grandpa sitting there in his plain blue overalls and blue work shirt, one leg over the arm of the chair, chewing his Wrigley’s Doublemint^® Gum.

Anxiously I waited while someone else showed him their report card until finally, it was my turn. With my heart pounding, I handed him my report card. He looked it over carefully, studying it. Then he looked up at me, nodded and said, "This is a good one; I would sign it." I was in heaven! Success! I have never forgotten that moment 40 years ago, it is still vivid in my memory today. It was such a small thing, and it seemed I had earned that very crucial acceptance. My grandpa probably never thought another thing of it, but when I get to heaven I want to hug him and thank him for accepting a little girl and touching her life.

From God’s Word, we know that there is not one small thing we can do or could have done to earn acceptance into the Kingdom of Heaven. Yet I wonder, how did Jesus show His acceptance of those around Him? Did they earn it? Did they win His healing? Were they special enough or talented enough or rich enough to come first in His notice? What did the endless crowds around Him do or say to gain His attention, His touch, or His slightest glance? How did He show His acknowledgment and gather them into the Kingdom?

He reached out and touched the leper. He gathered the children unto Him and blessed them. He reassured Jairus that his daughter wasn’t dead, then took her hand and helped her get up. He praised the Roman centurion for his faith, and then healed his servant from afar. He provided for His mother moments before His death. He felt concern for the hungry people and supplied food for them. Again and again He reached out in so many ways to those around Him, providing for them, showing them life and truth.

As an adult I learned that it was His acceptance I needed more than any other, not the approval of adoptive or biological family, friends or church folk. Finally one day, when I turned my face from the corner, there He was with His warm, loving arms outstretched simply waiting for me. Since I was a small child, I had longed for Him, loved Him, craved Him, but somewhere I had learned that I had to behave a certain way, pray a certain way, believe a certain way, walk and talk a certain way before He would ever want me.

When I turned and discovered that that acceptance had been there all along, that it had always been there, the realization stunned me. It was there before I had ever been thought of, before my conception, desertion, adoption, or my crazed search for love and acceptance. My mind could not grasp the full depth of what this meant. All of my work and self-effort had been for naught.

He had always been there. Waiting for my acceptance of what He made available to us all, what He had already paid for, of that which nothing could stand in the way of: His open arms and loving acceptance of us all. I didn’t have to do anything—there was no need to perform or meet approval or achieve a certain standard. His acceptance of me, just as I was and am and will be, has always been there. I am free to be the best child of God in Him that I can be. No longer do I have to be a fearful slave. Never again do I have to cower in His presence. I can call Him, "Abba, Daddy, Dear Father." His Holy Spirit speaks to me deep in my heart and tells me I am God’s child.

Everything that God gives to His Son is ours too. We will share His treasures. What a joy! What a load off our shoulders! I want to dance in the rain and sing in the sun! What about you? Are you free from that load? Have you received His acceptance? Will you share His treasures? Shall we dance?

Copyright 2005 by Desiree Marrion

Desirée Marrion is a member of Eastside Foursquare Church. She is a single mom, a grandmother, and an administrative assistant at a medical research facility. You may reach her at: marrion8955@yahoo.com