Lenten Blog Tour

Today I've been invited to participate in a Lenten Blog Tour supporting the new Common English Bible. During the tour, 41 bloggers offer 41 different thoughts and perspectives. (See all of the reflections here.) For me, this invitation provided a special opportunity to reflect on a passage that is often discussed in the adoption community. Here's Mark 9:33-37 in the CEB translation and a few comments on how – as a mother, a parent by adoption, and a person in midlife this ancient text informs my life.

“They entered Capernaum. When they had come into a house, he asked  them, “What were you arguing about during the journey?” They didn’t respond, since on the way they had been debating with each other about  who was the greatest. He sat down, called the Twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be least of all and the servant of all.” Jesus reached for a little child, placed him among the Twelve, and embraced him. Then he said, “Whoever welcomes one of these children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me isn’t actually welcoming me but rather the one who sent me.” Mark 9:33-37  (CEB)

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1. As a mother of four kids, ages 9-14, the fact that the disciples didn’t want to answer Jesus’ question because they had been arguing about “who was the greatest” makes me laugh. 

Well, let me be more clear: it makes me laugh wryly.

Isn’t that often what might be going on when our kids bicker?  Maybe their “Who is the greatest” arguments are veiled in ones such as, “You’re on my side of the back seat!” or “You gave me a mean look!” or “Hey, that was mine!”

But isn't “Who’s the greatest here?” the real question?

What do you say when your kids have such arguments? Do you, like I do – especially when I am not being a particularly thoughtful or deliberate mother – just sort of nag?

“There is a whole box of granola bars – why does it matter whose that one was?”

“Your side of the seat? What?”

“Really, how much does any of this matter?”

But, Jesus is wiser.

And gentler.

Of course He is; He’s Jesus, for crying out loud. He cuts to the chase and tells the disciples that the greatest of them all is the one who serves. The greatest is a servant. A servant with a gleaming, glowy heart that reflects God’s love for humanity.

You see, it’s not great to be small and petty. It’s not glowy to want the best just for ourselves.  But Jesus doesn’t induce shame in his disciples; He just points them in a better direction.

(Good parenting advice, right?)

2. As a mother by adoption this passage holds meaning, too. 

I don’t mean – please believe me that I really, really, really don’t mean – that, because I have “welcomed” a child by adoption, I’ve somehow reached a spiritual state of enlightenment, nirvana, or particular grace never obtained by people who opt out of having kids, who have welcomed kids only “the traditional way,” or whose children came to them after assistance from doctors and infertility treatments.

(Nope.)

Indeed, like most parents by adoption, I’m not interested in comparing my experience to others. And I’m aware that I have been the recipient of so much good from my daughter – laughter, warmth, and happiness. 


Like yesterday when she was practicing the piano and I had to get up from the table and just cover her with kisses because I love her so much. 


I’m not a hero for adopting a child. A hero puts his or her life at risk to save others. In adopting my daughter, she – in ways I try to explore in the book – has made me more … well … me. Saved me in a way. In a good way. And, actually, I don’t think of her as my “adoptive” daughter; just my daughter. 

But because I spent so much time in the past year thinking about telling my adoption story, reading about adoption, looking at ethical adoption, and so on … it is a comfort to me to think about how Jesus identifies so closely with children. Welcome them and you welcome Me, He says.

Once again, that was very parental and loving of Jesus, right?

3. I also like this passage as a person in midlife. Just last night, I was on the phone with a friend who lives across the country from me.  A beautiful, funny, talented friend.  Spectacularly beautiful – inside and out. (If you knew her, you’d agree.)

And my friend, like me and so many of the 40-something women I know, has been dedicated for the past decade and a half or so raising kids making a family and basically being a grown up. Planning meals. Doing the laundry. Making her kids go to church. Reading articles about parenting. Negotiating a marriage. Taking kids to the pediatrician, dentist, orthodontist, and making sure they did their homework. She’s kept her kids in shoes that fit. Encouraged healthy diets and good manners.  (I could go on and on. So could you.)

And, somewhere along the line, like so many of us, she started feeling less like her girl self. 

“Remember when you were…like…twelve?” she asked me last night, trying to find the right words. “And you thought you could do anything?  And then you tried something?  Whatever it was.  And you thought to yourself, ‘Hey, I’m pretty good at this. Look at me!’ You had such confidence? I want to be like that again. Like I used to be.”

And I hear an echo of that in Jesus’ words, too.

You’ve not only welcomed kids, but raised them. And you’ve raised them well.  You’ve served them in making sure they are fed and disciplined well. You’ve changed diapers, made meals, cleaned up all matter of bodily fluids while smiling at them, giving them your love. It hasn’t been easy. 


In other words: You’ve been a servant.

But maybe now we can welcome ourselves as children too. Maybe we can rejoice and explore our God-given gifts in a new way again too. Invest in them.

Let ourselves shine again, all glowy and good.

Like God made us to be. 

You know what I mean?