I am sad not to have children of my own. I feel their absence in our home. It’s my own fault. My wife wanted to adopt years ago, but I resisted because of fear. Then the moment passed — the time is only ripe so long.
In some ways, not having children helps my ministry. I couldn’t do all my pastoral care if there were children at home to care for. Not having any enables me to care for my congregation more extensively. And I love the children in my church. I smile when they bounce through the halls on Sunday mornings. On Wednesday evening I sit down to dinner with four children in our midweek program. Afterward I teach a Bible study for three more — my “Great Girls.” My girls get away with more with me than with Mrs S. I’m a marshmallow. But I don’t mind. Wednesday evening is the highlight of my week.
When pressed by his family, Jesus radically redefined the nature of family. “He looked at the people sitting around him and said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers. Anyone who obeys God is my brother or sister or mother.’” (Mk 3.34-5) I used to watch children in my church and wish they were mine; at times I still do. But now I see them and think, “These are all my children. These are the children God has given me to care for.”
