Adopted
It was a quick two-day trip that almost didn’t happen. The occasion was a graveside service for Joan’s Uncle Al last Friday in Nevada City (between Sacramento and Reno). After recovering from the shock of no-advance-purchase air fares, I found an affordable air-plus-hotel package into Reno (half the price of the air fare alone, apparently sold with the vain hope that I would gamble in the hotel’s casino) and went down for the service. I’m glad it did.
We gathered for lunch after the service and shared stories about this kind and gentle man whose characteristics make me glad I married into the Gustafson family. It was as we were leaving that someone observed how blessed we were to have been accepted and grafted in to this family. We were related not by blood but by choice.
When we were kids, my brothers and I occasionally teased each other by claiming that one of us (whoever was the target on that particular day) was adopted. Our teasing, of course, missed the point. Adopted - chosen - is good! I’m thankful and proud that this family, part of which gathered last Friday, includes me.
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