I first met Allie when she was three years old. Her father came into the daycare that I own to take a tour before enrolling Allie. I could immediately see that he was exhausted and terrified. He nodded along as I explained our polices, but it was obvious he wasn’t hearing anything I was saying. I finally asked if he was okay. His response completely explained his behavior. His wife, Allie’s mother, was killed in a car accident almost a year ago. Up to this point he had been able to live on savings and stay home with Allie, but funds were running low and he knew it was time to return to work, to provide for his daughter and begin trying to create some sense of life and normalcy for her.

On Allie’s first day at daycare, her father handed her to me with panic and tears in his eyes. With tears of my own, I assured him that I would personally watch over her. I walked inside with Allie in my arms as he drove away. I sat down on the carpet with Allie in my lap and she looked up at me. As our eyes locked, I knew; I am meant to love and protect this little girl. And I have been doing that since.

Allie and I quickly became attached at the hip. She followed me wherever I went throughout the day and I gladly enjoyed her company. She picked up on my routine and mannerisms, making the same facial expressions as me and knowing where I was going next. I didn’t teach her those things, she just started doing them. And it made me smile when she did. Over time I also got to know her father better and we became friends as we connected in our love for Allie. Three years after our first meeting, we married.

Allie is now my daughter legally, but she has been my daughter since that first day sitting on the carpet. She has been my daughter since the first time I laid eyes on her. Her being my daughter has nothing to do with whether I gave birth to her or that a judge signed a paper that says I’m her mother now. I’m her Mother because I love her, because God encouraged me to love her, and because I chose to love her. I’m her mother because I hug her when she’s sad and take care of her when she’s sick. I hold her when she’s scared and make breakfast for her every morning. I’m her mother because I watch over her and protect her. I’m her mother because I can’t imagine life without her and only want what’s best for her. I’m her mother because I want to teach her to grow independent and also always come running back to me. It doesn’t matter what our DNA says, it matters what our actions say.

Allie is eight years old now and it’s funny to see how like me she is. To see us standing next to each other, you can see that we don’t share the same genes. She has fiery red hair, creamy white skin, and deep green eyes like her father’s. I have dark hair that is naturally curly, tan skin, and dark brown eyes. But that is where the differences end. I scratch the bridge of my nose when I’m nervous, and so does Allie. I bite my nails when I’m deep in thought, and so does Allie. Allie hates mushrooms, tomatoes, and, believe it or not, chocolate—all things that I just so happen to hate myself. We walk the same way, emphasize the same words when we speak, and share the same compassion for animals. Those things aren’t shared in our DNA and I never taught Allie to copy me in any way, she just picked up on things as we spent more and more time together. We do have differences, of course, I encourage her to be her own person and form her own opinions. But because of the time we’ve spent together and the love we share, we can’t help enjoying and caring about the same things and picking up on one another’s habits.

Loving Allie has taught me so much about the love of God. He isn’t “technically” my father, but His actions prove otherwise. He doesn’t have to protect me and provide for me, He chooses to. He doesn’t have to listen to me whine or put up with my attitude when I’m mad at Him, but He does it willingly. He doesn’t have to fix my mistakes, but He does it every time. Because He chooses to be my Father. Because of how deeply and faithfully He loves me, I want to spend more time with Him. And the more time I spend with Him, the more I pick up on His habits and characteristics. God as Father doesn’t have to be an impossible to understand idea, it is simply watching His actions and seeing that He loves and protects as a good Father does.

“For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba Father.’” (Romans 8:15, English Standard Version)

*Disclaimer: This is a fictional story written for the purposes of this message.

Reflecting God as an Adoptive Daughter