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Welcome to the family

 

The fall colors had returned, as the summer days shortened, and temperatures started dropping again. Most of the harvest was in, and rainy days weren’t interrupting anymore. Though today was still cloudy, the rain had stopped the night before. I was on my way to one of my favorite pastimes: exploring the forest floor in the fall when leaves were falling, and the rainy days brought a very unique but wonderful fragrance to this environment.

 

Amita would be joining me once more on this hike, and though it was very different from the uneven railroad track that I frequented often, I’m not sure how well she would fare stepping over logs and muddy hollows. There was a pathway through these woods, but it wasn’t well maintained. It was usually the regular hikers who would remove some of the fallen branches. I hadn’t been here myself for a while and wasn’t sure what to expect.

 

Amita came prepared and brought a good pair of hiking shoes.

 

“Thanks for joining me today, Amita,” I said as I greeted her. “I’m looking forward to it,” she smiled as she returned my welcome. “It isn’t often that I hike through woods, and I’ve been told that new shoes need to be broken in, so I have worn them already for a few days.”

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“Good thinking,” I replied, “though there is a pathway, there might be some rugged terrain. The woods we’re heading for are still a ways off. There is a large field that we are going around first.”

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“Let’s do it!” she said enthusiastically, and with that, we were on our way.

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“Amita, I found a very interesting letter amongst the stack on the desk,” I started. “The label on it read ‘Welcome to the Family’ and was indeed an interesting read.”

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“Do you want to read it to me or let me in on that interesting read?”

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“I’ll let you in on it,” I answered, but for the most part, Father sent me to a passage that the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans in his day. He mentioned that because the spirit of God dwells in us, we are His children, and as such, we belong to the family. He also mentioned that we will share the Father’s inheritance with Jesus.

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“That makes sense, doesn’t it?” Amita probed.

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“Yes, but not really,” I answered. “I’ve always believed I was a child of God, but this thing about sharing the inheritance with Jesus and the rest of the saints, or I might as well say, the rest of the family, has me wondering.”

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“You don’t want to share it?”

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“Of course I want to share it,” I quickly responded, but then paused.

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Amita noticed, as she always does, for she is so observant, and she could tell that something was amiss.

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“You’re not too sure about this inheritance stuff, are you?” she began. “Something is not lining up.”

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I had stopped walking and stared straight ahead of me, but not really looking at anything. Amita tried to look where I was staring. Suddenly she pulled me out of my stare!

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“Heneka, do you remember that incident with your father when he became angry, or exploded, as you called it back then?”

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“What about it?” I asked in surprise.

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“Well, what he said is not what you heard, and what he heard is not what you said, remember?”

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I had no idea where she was going with this and simply asked, “What does this have to do with sharing the inheritance?”

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“Nothing,” she chuckled.

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She was having fun, but I wasn’t. Partly I think because I didn’t understand something, and partly because reading this letter, for some strange reason, made me want to go to my hiding place.

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“But I am guessing something,” she continued. “What you see is not what it is, and what it is, is not what you see.”

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“That’s a good start,” I said somewhat sarcastically, and again Amita noticed.

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“Heneka, you need to snap out of this. Embrace and enjoy the journey. Usually by now you’d have something to say about the scenery around us, which by the way is beautiful.”

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“I’m sorry, Amita, you’re right, but I’ve been somewhat frustrated lately, and the letter is not helping.”

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“Well, frustration is a subtle form of anger, and anger is an emotional call for action,” Amita replied. “Isn’t it amazing how you find just the right letter at just the right time?”

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“I’m not sure what you mean?”

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“It’s almost too simple when I hear you read the label on the letter.”

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“Welcome to the Family?” I repeated as a question.

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“Yes, and it’s at a time when you’re feeling somewhat frustrated, as you put it, and it is because you either don’t understand family or you’re not sure who your family is.”

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“I’m not sure what you mean.”

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“Heneka, let me ask you something. When Father in the letter refers to sharing the inheritance, what comes to your mind?”

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“When I think of sharing, I think about a whole, and it gets split up into equal parts, and everyone gets a part of that whole.”

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“All right, and what about that part? Would you share that with each other as well?” Amita asked again.

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“Not sure what you mean,” I answered. “Why would you share the part when everyone has the same part already?”

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Amita stopped for a moment, and this time she stared in front of her. She gave a deep sigh, and now I was wondering what was next. I quickly found a distraction:

 

“Amita, this field is a unique hayfield for the hay is harvested only once a year in late summer. It’s a haven for songbirds and field birds. They nest in these fields. A while back, I came across a large partridge family. There must have been at least ten chicks, and the hen was quite nervous and didn’t know how quickly to round up her young brood.” I started and wanted to say more, but I don’t think she was listening.

 

“Heneka,” she started after a bit, “I understand why Father sent you this letter; I understand it very well, and I need you to trust me. The frustration you’ve been experiencing is partly because of a lie you’ve believed, and we’ll expose it, but it’s also a result of how you see yourself or what you believe about yourself.

 

“I wasn’t sure how to answer, but without thinking, I said to her, ‘What gave you this idea?’

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“Well, it’s what you believe and said about sharing. It gave you away,” she chuckled.

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She was calm and not at all worried, but I was truly curious and somewhat on edge.

 

“Just before you tell me, there’s a pathway that enters the woods just around that corner, and we’ll take that path. A little ways in, if you’re quiet, you can hear a lot of buzzing overhead. There’s a beehive about midway up the tree, and it’s one of the largest I’ve ever seen. A while back, I must have seen at least eight or ten bees entering and leaving the hive every second!”

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“That will be interesting to see,” she replied.

 

“Heneka, sharing is a family thing or a community thing. Sharing is not about giving or receiving, but sharing is about giving and receiving. When I hear you describe sharing, I’m reminded of the orphan or what is sometimes called the orphan heart.”

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“What is an orphan heart?” I asked.

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“Well, no one is born with an orphan heart, but it is formed mostly through life experiences. Not unlike some other issues that were formed through lies that you had believed. There is one life experience, however, that greatly contributes to the forming of this heart condition."

“What’s that?”

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“It’s the experience of not being wanted or not belonging,” Amita answered.

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We stood still. Again, I stared in front of me, looking at nothing. A lot, yes a lot of memories flooded my mind right there. I could relate! Amita left me with my thoughts for a bit until little tears formed in the corner of my eyes.

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Amita put her hand on my shoulder, understanding my pain, and said as much, “Heneka, I know that in this big wide world we all live in, there is hardly a pain greater than the pain of being alone and not belonging.”

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There is only one remedy to this pain, and it is not placing you in a crowd, or letting your family know how much you are hurting or even connecting with your friends. Like an aspirin, these may give some temporal relief, but it will not take the pain away.

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“Amita, I have felt very alone in a big crowd, and even amongst friends, I have felt as if I didn’t belong. Can I tell you a story?”

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“Of course, life is made up of stories, even if they’re not always nice stories.”

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“Christmas is a time of celebration and getting together with family and having fun and sharing and so on, isn’t it?”

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“Absolutely!” she answered quickly, but this time, the tone of her voice and her glance toward me revealed that I was not going to agree, and she would be right.”

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“For some time, I lived far away from my relatives, the closest one being a seven-hour car drive, but most of them lived two thousand miles away. We had lots of friends and belonged to a wonderful church community. We were always welcome... except for one day of the year...

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“Christmas?”

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“Right. It was a day when family got together and not friends. Needless to say, we felt very alone and learned to hate Christmas as a result of it. Thankfully, once our friends understood, we joined them a number of times through the Christmas season.”

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“It is a beautiful thing when friends let us share their family functions with us,” Amita added, “but in the end, tell me Heneka, did that take the pain away, or was it a temporary relief from a deep ache that is sometimes dulled?”

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I simply agreed, “If it took the pain away, I probably would not experience it now, that is, in the memory, would I?”

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Amita answered, “It’s like I mentioned earlier, there is only one remedy, and it’s not connecting with friends as you experienced yourself firsthand.”

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“What is the remedy, Amita?”

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Quicker than I asked the question, she answered, “Family!”

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“That doesn’t make any sense!”

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“Friends make you feel like you are one of the family, and we are so grateful for them, but really you are not of their family; Heneka, we are looking in the wrong place.”

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“What do you mean?”

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“Again, let me remind you to trust me as I explain,” she said calmly.

 

I sighed, took another deep breath, and realized that Amita came today while I was experiencing an inner ache that never went away but only lay dormant from time to time. As much as I was somewhat afraid, probably of the unknown or uncertainty of the situation, I knew very well that first of all, Father sent the letter because He deeply loved me, and Amita’s heart was to see me free from the lies and beliefs that kept me from living life fully.

 

“Heneka, that feeling of not belonging or being alone does not come from uncaring friends or imperfect families or the like, though that may contribute. It is formed through a false belief of who you are.”

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“Again, for a moment I felt that deep ache come to the surface to scream in my ears that I am a nobody, but I was safe here with Amita.

 

“Heneka, if I were to ask you ‘who are you,’ you will tell me who you are not, but who you believe you are,” Amita continued. “Let’s look at the life of an orphan, and you can let me know if you can relate.”

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I thought it was an awkward approach, but said, “Sure, go for it.”

 

“First thing, an orphan is one without a father and mother, and quite often without brothers and sisters as well. You might say, so what, but let me tell you about that ‘so what.’ ~ and this is where the seed of the lie falls in fertile ground ~ mother nurtures, father provides. The orphan has no mother to nurture, and the orphan has no father that provides.”

 

“So what happens?” I asked.

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“The orphan has to rely on the kindness and mercy of someone else. That someone else quite often is not around, and now nurture and especially provision falls on the shoulder of the orphan. The orphan says inside, ‘I need to live.’ And therefore, will do anything to survive, and that includes compliance or ‘giving in’ to grown-ups, peers, and whoever will contribute to the survival. Often these sources are disinterested and looking for personal gain, and a lot of suffering happens to the orphan."

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“I’ve had parents until they were quite old, so I never was an orphan in real life, and what you’re telling me is hard to believe,” I responded after Amita took a deep sigh.

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“I understand,” she answered, “but let me tell you something else the orphan must face.”

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“What’s that?”

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“There is no inheritance for an orphan, for it gets passed down from parents to children. An orphan has no parents and therefore no inheritance to look towards, which is the hope of every person. An inheritance is very important to every individual, even though many do not understand the significance of an inheritance."

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“Why is an inheritance so important or significant?” I asked. “There are a lot of horror stories out there about families fighting over who gets what when the inheritance came.”

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“That’s precisely why many do not understand,” Amita answered. “But you’ll see later why it’s so significant.”

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“Okay,” I simply responded.

 

Amita stopped and looked off to the side of the pathway, and with a look of surprise asked, “What is that?” pointing to a large whitish spongy ball.

I chuckled, “It’s called a ‘puffball’ and belongs to  the mushroom family. It usually shows up late summer in wet, wooded areas. This one is definitely a big one because it measures more than ten inches in diameter. Most of the ones we see are about six inches.

“Are they edible?” Amita asked.

“Some people love them fried in butter. I’ve tried them, but there are foods that I prefer over puffball mushrooms.”

“That’s a fair answer,” Amita laughed.

 

With that, her face turned more serious as she continued where she left off.

 

“Heneka, there is one other characteristic of an orphan, and it causes most of the pain.”

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Once more I asked, though I didn’t need to, “What’s that?” for she just continued.

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“It is what we mentioned earlier about not belonging. An orphan does not belong to the family. It is that ‘not belonging’ that introduces the loneliness, and it’s the loneliness that is so painful."

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“Wow, Amita,” I exclaimed. “I have never been an orphan, but somehow it seems so real. There have been times when I felt as though I did not belong, and it wasn’t just within family. I remember playing on a soccer team and being alone, sitting in a prayer meeting at a church and feeling very alone, and sometimes feeling very alone while being alone... Hmmm, that sounds obvious."

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“Not really, Heneka,” Amita piped in. “Being alone and feeling alone are very different in nature, but when they are there simultaneously, it is indeed not a good thing."

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“How do you mean?”

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“Well, we all need time alone now and then, which is a very natural and good thing. Feeling alone, however, flows from what we believe about ourselves. When we live like an orphan and we are alone, the feeling of being alone (like not belonging) intensifies, and the pain is often unbearable."

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“Wow again!” I exclaimed once more. “How is anybody ever getting through that?”

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“Family,” Amita answered calmly."

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“Family? You’ve just spent the last ten minutes telling me an orphan has no family, and you keep saying that the only remedy to this dilemma is family. It’s not at all like you to contradict yourself.”

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“I’m not contradicting myself,” she responded with the same calmness, which actually brought the frustration from earlier back again."

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Amita noticed and once again calmly replied, “Heneka, I asked you earlier to trust me. I know the pain you’ve experienced, and I know how real it was, and I know how long it has been there, but I tell you the only remedy is family.”

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I looked at Amita, now with an empty mind and no words, just waiting for what she would say next. The landscape around us was waiting to be seen and commented upon: mushrooms, a multi-colored carpet of fallen leaves, amazing fragrance, and more, but it went unnoticed.

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After some silence, she asked me, “Heneka, how does one become part of a family when they are not born into it?”

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“I don’t know,” I quickly replied.

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“Yes, you do, but never mind, I’ll answer it for you.”

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Not happy with her response, I just stared at her.

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“It’s through adoption.”

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I think I stopped breathing. The empty mind and blind stare suddenly flooded with all kinds of thoughts and emotions; not about memories from the past but about a bright light right in front of me. Amita couldn’t tell by my breathing, but she sure saw the light in my eyes. She just smiled.

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“Welcome to the family!” she finally burst out. “There is an inheritance waiting to be shared.”

 

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As we walked back, the trail and the forest floor came alive. I shared with Amita the things I learned in the forest: how leaves turned color in the fall and about animals getting ready for winter and more. When we came to the edge of the woods and the field spread out in front of us, Amita reminded me of the importance and significance of the inheritance.

 

“Do you remember when I told you how important and significant the inheritance is to every person?” she started, “and you asked me why?”

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“Yes, please tell me,” I responded.

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“Well, an inheritance is not just received; it is shared. An inheritance is not just someone’s idea of giving everything accumulated over a lifetime to the next person after he or she is no more."

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“You’ve got my undivided attention.”

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Amita chuckled and continued, “The inheritance is another creation ordinance, and as such, it has design, for everything the Father did, He did so with design and purpose. The inheritance was designed to transfer the blessings of a father to his children. The contents of the inheritance or the blessing included everything from knowledge, wisdom, and direction to possessions and dwelling place."

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“But you said earlier that many do not understand the importance and significance of an inheritance; it seems pretty simple the way you described it,” I commented.

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“Uh huh,” she chuckled again, “but an inheritance is not an event as many think. It is a way of life. If you believe that that which is received through inheritance is now yours only and no longer belongs to the one from whence it came (which is an event), you missed it, for you’ve acted like an orphan who had nothing and now has some or lots and won’t share it for fear there will not be enough."

 

Within the inheritance, you cannot take something away from one and give it to another. With that, I mean that one does not have less and the other more. The contents of the inheritance remain. There’s a story of a father and two sons that beautifully illustrate this."

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“Oh, yes, the story of the prodigal son,” I confirmed.

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“Yes,” Amita continued, “the father understood the purpose of inheritance, but the sons did not. The younger of the two wanted his share, received it, left home, and spent it indiscriminately. He then returned as a beggar, willing to be a servant. (That’s an orphan mentality.)"

“Let me guess,” I injected, “he thought there was no more inheritance for him.”

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“Exactly! But family and celebration and being a son and life are all part of the inheritance. Wealth that was transferred was only a small part of that inheritance."

“I think I am beginning to see it. What about the older son?” I questioned.

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“The older son worried and was afraid that there was not enough (so he thought, which is also the orphan mentality) for now the father was spending his share on his younger brother."

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“Wow! I never thought about it that way.”

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“Let me say one more thing, Heneka, and this is how many, many people live their lives. The older son believed his good behavior would keep him in the inheritance, and the younger son believed his bad behavior would keep him out of the inheritance. The father proved otherwise to both of them.”

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We had reached the place where we met and started out. Amita let me know that her feet hurt somewhat because of the new hiking shoes, but she thoroughly enjoyed the walk through the woods and everything she learned about mushrooms and the forest floor in the fall.