The Thread of Red

When I gave birth to a daughter with a tiny bit of strawberry-blonde fuzz on her little head more than 11 years ago, I didn’t know the significance at that moment. 

When that soft fuzz grew to perfect Shirley-Temple-style red ringlets three years later, I didn’t yet know the impact it would have. 

When I had a dear friend tell me, soon after my life imploded, she had a dream that I would one day marry a red-headed mountain biker, I laughed through tears of unbelief that life would ever be normal again. 

When I eventually married that red-headed man who happens to love mountain biking three years after that, I still didn’t fully grasp the tapestry God was weaving. 

But I see it now.

In five days we will celebrate the third anniversary of the day a judge signed a piece of paper. A document that officially declares a daddy to a red-headed daughter and a blonde son. 

I now see the incredible thread God used to weave a beautiful family tapestry. I see it every time someone remarks how much these kids look like their daddy. I see it every time someone points out how much they favor their older siblings. We don’t correct them. Their words are true after all.

The beautiful way families are woven together is all part of God’s amazing design.

Some moms and dads have miniature versions of themselves in their kids. Some don’t physically resemble each other at all.

Some parents share DNA with their children. Some are cut from different cloth.

Some families speak the same language. Some have to work at it.

Some families are formed through joy. Some are created through tragedy.

Some parents and children have known each other from the very beginning. Some don’t meet until later.

Knitted. Woven. Intertwined. Bonded. All with the common thread of unconditional love.

What a stunning earthly depiction of the relationship between the Master Weaver and his children.

I see that in the extraordinary act of adoption.

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