See Also

Archive

About the Author

    A young polar bear cub approached his mother one day and asked, “Mom, am I a polar bear?”

    “Of course you are,” she replied with a smile.

    “OK,” said the cub, and padded off. Later, he found his dad out by the iceberg. “Dad, am I a polar bear?”

    “Sure you are, son!” said his dad, wondering a bit at why his son would ask such a silly thing.

    The next day, the cub asked the question again and again. “Are you and mom polar bears? You are? Well, then, does that make me a polar bear? Pure, 100% polar bear?”

    Finally, his parents couldn’t stand it any longer. “Son, you’re driving us crazy with this question! You are a polar bear! Why do you keep asking?”

“Am I really your child?”

    The cub looked up and confessed, “Cause I’m FREEZING!”

    And then there’s me. Sometimes I go to my Father, and I say, “Am I really your child? Are you really my Father? Because sometimes I doubt, and other times, I don’t act much like you. And I’m not sure if I’m the kind of person you would want to call your child. And sometimes things don’t go well for me, and I have pain and anger and... is that ok for one of your children?”

    And then, though I can’t see it, I can feel it — the warm hug, the reassuring smile, the affirmation of sonship. I don’t have to be perfect, I’m not expected to never feel pain or worry or care. But I’m expected to know whose I am, and that I belong. And that for whatever extravagant, outrageous reason, I’ve been loved and adopted by the One True God.

    Even polar bears get cold. And even Christians — the adopted children of God — fail and fear and falter. But we are still His. Praise God!