March 7, 2013
I awoke at 3:15 this morning. Second day in a row. This time, my thoughts were on a blind man I’d met in the leprosy unit of Sahayamatha Hospital in Trichy, India. He is a sort of legend at the hospital. He’s been there seventeen years. Eighteen now, I suppose.
His story has made the rounds here in America too. I have his photo amongst the rest of my family photos, and there was just something about him that stuck with me since meeting him in July, 2011. April, 2012, we met again. So it shouldn’t be a big surprise when I saw him a third time in November, there was something, well, familiar.
It was the feeling of seeing an old friend. A paradox of excitement and ease, because you know one another.
I sat next to him, and spoke into his ear. An interpreter relayed my stories of how he was famous around my house. How excited I was to see him in person, because I see his photo every day, and pray for him. He laughed, maybe wondering what a photo of him might look like. Then I asked him…
“Do you recognize my voice?”
I wasn’t prepared for his answer.
“Yes, you are my mother.”
Now there may have been a twist during translation, but the fact remains. We have been adopted, and we are family.
But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship. Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out,“Abba, Father.” – Galatians 4:4-6
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