Have you ever heard of the game Two Truths and a Lie? It’s a game where each person shares three statements about herself, but only two are true. The other people in the group try to guess which statement is the lie.
I’m a pro at this game because I have a secret weapon. The key is having one really outrageous truth that sounds like a lie. My truth is that “my parents were at the circus when I was born,” and since people assume that my parents probably weren’t carnies, they assume that’s my lie.
My parents really were at the circus when I was born. I’m sure they were having a great time with my older brother, but I was at the hospital . . . being born.
The explanation: I was adopted at birth.
The adoption agency my parents used had a policy that if a sibling was old enough, he could go back with the caseworker and actually carry the child out to the parents. So my brother, Jeremy, carried me out to my parents. I did not look exactly like a Gerber baby. I had been delivered with forceps that left a slight indentation on one side of my face and temporarily pinched a nerve, which made my mouth hang down on one side. But when my brother carried me out in his 6-year-old arms, he presented me to my parents and said, “Isn’t she pretty? Doesn’t she look just like me?”
For me, being adopted is a picture of God’s total sovereign control over all of the specific details he lovingly orchestrates in our lives. Over time, I have come to recognize a theme in my life of what I call ridiculous grace.