Flesh and Blood
"I'm going to be a big brother," the little boy says gleefully to the old woman in the grocery store.
"Lord, you ain't pregnant again, are you?" the old woman asks, turning to crane her neck at the boy's mother.
"No," the mother replies. "We're planning on adopting."
"Are you crazy?" the old woman says. "Adopting? I'd never mix somebody else's children with my own flesh and blood."
The mother feels her face flush with embarrassment for the old woman's bitterness and ignorance, embarrassment that her children have been subjected to this condescending outburst in so public a place, and embarrassment that she isn't quick enough to respond in any other way than to bid the woman a perhaps too-cloyingly cheerful goodbye.
There's something about the way the old woman had used the phrase her "own flesh and blood" that betrayed the self-professed Christian's deep-seated and decidedly un-Christian prejudice against orphan care.
How could a so-called Christian be against adoption when it's the very flesh and blood of Jesus through which our own adoption into the family of God was made possible?
The mother in this story is my wife, and this actually happened several months ago.
And we are planning on adoption.
Just call us crazy.