my Dad.

Note to the reader: I will always share my adoption experience in most if not every writing piece I post on this blog. This is a story God has uniquely orchestrated in this life He has given me for His glory. And I am trying to do all I can to obey Him and enjoy Him and share His story.

let love be genuine.

I never write about my dad. Most likely it is because I will find myself with tears all over my cell phone. I do have the greatest family in the universe.

My dad is not my biological father. Since I call him my father I would have to say our relationship is one that is bigger than the universe. Of course I understand that God is a much better, higher, and perfect Father, don’t get me wrong, but because of His love for me, he has given me an earthly father. I am thankful for that.

Before my dad even knew who I was he met my mother. She is also not my biological mother. They were married for about 10 years before they searched me out. My parents could not have kids due to medical reasons. Therefore my father and mother were without a child. At the time it was pretty difficult, but God in His Sovereignty knew the 10,000 things that were going on that my folks did not see. Today I am grateful for that. In 1990 my parents decided they would adopt. After working with several different national adoption agencies where they lived in North Carolina and several months had went by with rejected adoptions or no feedback from agencies my father and mother found that waiting for an answer was difficult. Yet they still pursued to find a child. Then after connecting with a small international adoption agency in Texas they made progress. One day my parents received a phone call and it was a phone call that would lead them to Santa Cruz, Bolivia South America. The agency explained where I was from and my name and they took the first flight out of Raleigh Durham Airport.

On June 24th, 1991 I was born, and on September 8th, 1991 I was adopted. My parents told me that before flying out that several of their friends had concerns about a South American kid being raised by two Caucasian American parents. I agree my parents didn’t have a clue how thick a South American baby’s hair was. The reason I write about my father is because he is the man (along with my mom&family) that raised me. I told myself I wouldn’t cry while typing this out. I had left this little project for months until early this morning before church. So I decided to add to this piece.

The other day I stopped by the police station to talk to my youth pastor from church. I met up with him to talk about seminary. Blake is the chief of police in Pottsville and has served faithfully in the police force for many years. We talked about how the local Baptist association can help me when it came to application processing and finding churches to put my resume in. Blake told me he would call a few guys he knew and try to get information to me that would guide me in this process of getting extra biblical training. Before I left I told him I needed prayer.

I have lived in Pottsville, Arkansas since my family moved here in 1994. I was turning 3 at the time. I have done everything in this town. I grew up here, played my first baseball game here, I was baptized in this little town, and had my first wreck up on Crow Mountain. I had my first break-up in this town, and use to run the highways with my friend Jon. This town has contributed a lot to my family, and the community has faithfully served my family. It didn’t matter what the denomination of the church you went to you helped out one another. Yes, this was a town that everyone knew everyone, but that was the best part. If I had a flat tire all I had to do was drive to one of the local churches and the pastor of that church would usually be there reading, or working on the message for the coming Sunday, and he/she would come out to help me and my buddy’s fix a flat. (This did happen a couple of times)

I went on to share with Blake that “I didn’t want to go to seminary”. I didn’t want to go because I couldn’t handle leaving my family here in Pottsville. Hundreds of men in this town helped me grow up to be the man I am trying to be today. These men knew my dad and my grandfather. God has blessed me with my Grandpa George, and my father richly. I don’t know what I would do if they were to pass away before me though they would say the same. My dad walks the walk. There are times when we fuss and fight, and mom has to be the referee and tells us to go to separate corners of the ring, but I believe “iron sharpens iron”. The hardest thing that I will face is leaving not home, but my family. Adoption is something that to me has a deeper emotional attachment between parents and their child. When I think of the God I love and His affectionate love for me He promises me “I will never leave you or forsake you” and I believe that. This is the confidence,as the writer of Hebrews goes on, that I have when God calls me away from my family. Just like when God gave me the faith to believe in everything that His Son did and promised me salvation and told me this faith would last through the trials, and joyful triumphs. The love I have for my parents will never fade due to the distance between us. I love my father. He has taught me the business side of the church. He has showed me what the example of a godly man who loves his wife, and who is faithful to her no matter what may come. He loved my mother through her cancer, and continues to love her. My dad shows me everyday what it is like to be man born with sin. I am thankful for that because through our relationship dad has taught me grace and forgiveness. I don’t want to stop writing, but I feel this is the end for now, or like I will begin to say at the end of every story……

Taylor

Photo: Out to eat with my boys for their birthdays.

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