From the Blog of  
Originally posted August 9, 2010

I don’t know how to say this in a politically correct way, so I’ll just say it how I see it: I forget my son is black until we are in public.

I’m not exaggerating.  I’m not trying to be spiritual.  It’s just the way it is.  When I go home at 5:00 today, I will have two boys run to the door to give my hugs and kisses.  When I see them, all I see is my two sons.  I don’t see one as black, one as white.  I don’t see one as adopted, one as biological.  They are simply my sons.  It is amazing how God works in your heart.

I see it that way.  But not everyone else does.  It’s interesting to me.  I will get the boys out of their car seats, and we will walk into a restaurant and all of a sudden the stares of other people remind me: your family is different.  And then I remember.

The stares are different.  Not all stares mean the same thing.

  • The Confused Stare – “Maybe these boys are just friends, but they are wearing the same clothes.  How can this be?”
  • The Disapproving Stare – “That just ain’t right” (these stares come from people regardless of race – you might be surprised).
  • The Blank Stare – “Huh? Why is that white man holding that black child’s hand?”
  • The Accepting Stare – “I don’t know how this happened or your story, but I think that is right on.”
We don’t mind the stares.  We have gotten used to them.  If our family encourages people or challenges them to think, that is a good thing.

I only concern myself with certain stares.  I am concerned with the stares from my boys.  When they stare at me, they see their daddy.  Not their white daddy, I am simply their daddy.  I want my wife to stare at me with trusting eyes.  I want my Father to stare at me and see a servant with whom He is pleased.

And at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

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