Baptism

When I survey each decade of my life, my 40s will, unquestionably, be all about parenting. Whether I did it poorly or well remains to be seen once they attempt to launch post-graduation. Our first attempt at a “launch” is just around the corner with our oldest at the close of next school year, and preparations and plans are currently underway. I certainly hope the mission isn’t scrubbed multiple times for various reasons, though, with kids, few things work perfectly the first time every time. “Flexibility is key,” someone told me prior to parenting, and I have found, for the most part, they were right.

I’d say our experience has been unique with three adopted kiddos and no biological, but I have nothing else personally to which to compare it. Our experience has been our experience, and so there it is. They’ve willingly come “home” after school at the end of each day for the last several years and they still call us “mom” and “dad” despite having a history prior to us, so we must be doing something right, though I often feel I’m doing it wrong. Parenting has been the one thing I’ve earnestly attempted in my life at which I’ve felt I haven’t excelled, though, I admit and have learned, results aren’t entirely up to you.

Nonetheless, there are moments you may permit that you must be doing something right. One of those moments is when they willingly make a decision to accept your faith as their own. This bears even greater significance for an adoptive parent since, again, they have a history prior to you and are clearly aware of it. For each of them to make such a choice is to align themselves further with you and your influence upon them as parents. The meaningfulness behind such a choice can’t be overstated.

This evening, our youngest, Calib, will be baptized here at Pine Cove family camp at Crier Creek, a place he, like us, has grown to cherish after seven summers. He made his own decision to follow the very day my grandfather passed away, and we all agreed to make it even more special by immersing him here. Each day, he has reminded us with an eager smile how many days are left until then, and now the day is here.

I have the privilege as his adoptive father to baptize him, as I did our oldest. The scriptural imagery of being adopted into the fold by a Heavenly Father doesn’t escape me. I’m about as imperfect a father as it gets, but how fortunate I am that they each grasped the meaning behind it and allowed the unique creation of a family and spiritual memory.

“I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth,” said John in his third epistle to his “spiritual” children. But it’s an easy fit for parents.

Let’s be clear: This kid knows how to drive me crazy, and I often find my patience tested. He knows this, and so do I. But today, he is most excited about one thing, and that is being baptized by his dad.

Offer me riches or fame to give it up if you like, but I’ll pass. The memory, much more valuable, will last a lot longer — into eternity, in fact.