Bowing down in blind credulity before mere authority and tradition, I am firmly of the opinion that I was born in 1985. I don't remember the occasion, and I have not been able to test the story by experiment or private judgment, but I accept the account as passed down to me by my parents and as stated on my birth certificate. If there was an adoption story, I assume I would have heard it by now.
I count my parents as one of God's most gracious gifts in my life. I don't know anyone more generous, sincere, and hard-working. When I first heard about God's unconditional love for me, there was no disconnect in my little heart. I had already experienced this kind of love from my parents. They are godly, humble, and loving, and I deeply grateful for them.
I was born in the 80's, my childhood memories are filed in the 90's. When I was 5, my father took a pastorate in the Central Valley. I don't remember a lot about the move. I do remember it was hot when we arrived that summer.
It was also around this time that I came to faith in Jesus Christ. I remember nothing from the actual conversation with my mom, but that doesn't trouble me. After all, we are not justified by conversation. We are justified by faith. And faith is not something you profess at some point in the past. It's something you possess in the present.
To borrow a metaphor I read somewhere, it is not necessary to know when and how you sat down in the chair, so long as you know you are sitting there now. Or to change the metaphor, that night I flipped a switch by faith, believing that light would follow, and it did.
To quote another one of my favorite authors: "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."
Ever since, I have been trying to understand the nature of the wiring and the current that flows through it. It is a glorious subject to study, and I am not daunted at all by how little I know. I've heard it will take an eternity to really get it.
In college, I met a girl named Sharon. I worked up the courage to ask her on a date, and a year later, I asked her to marry me. I had the funny notion that marriage proposals needed to be a surprise, so I never even mentioned marriage to her until I proposed. When I called her dad a couple months before, he gave his blessing but felt I should know that he had no idea what she would say.
I promptly pushed aside the wave of uncertainty brought about by his comment, which is good, because she said yes. A "no" would have made for a really awkward return trip. The "yes", on the other hand, has filled my life with laughter, discovery, and thousands of other beautiful moments - moments that have scattered the light of God's grace in the remotest corners of my heart.
Fast forward 10 years. We now have 3 kids. My headstrong daughter was born into a family of firstborns, which explains all the friction in those early years. She tries her best to store everything she learns in the little world in her head. On good days, she invites us in to share this world with her. On the other days, we have to pry our way in. Most days are good days.
My son Isaac came next. His name means "laughter" and it suits him well. And yes, I know the context for the laughter in the biblical account. Just subtract the cynical unbelief. Isaac is your typical romantic adventurer. Every thing he sees invites him to climb it or touch it or throw it. Where I would sit back and try to figure something out, he would just take it apart. And let's be honest. His approach is probably more effective and definitely more fun.
Our third child officially took us out of a man-to-man defense and moved us into a zone. I know parents can't even pretend to make unbiased statements about their children, so I'm not even going to try. She's adorable. And don't let her smile fool you. She's even cuter than that.