I went to court recently.  It wasn’t for me.  A couple of family members asked me to go to the proceeding.

I talked with the Lovely Lady about it again tonight.  I was nervous at the courthouse.  What if it didn’t go well for my loved ones?  What if legal orders were made that affected them negatively?

I don’t like stress.  Like many, I don’t respond well, either emotionally or physically, to it.  I do my best to avoid it as much as possible.  But, it was important for us to be there for this stress.

The young man spoke, answering questions put to him by individuals sitting at one of the desks.  He was clear in his answers.  They seemed satisfied with them.

Then he spoke on his own for a few moments.  Again, his words were clear and communicated what he wanted the court to understand easily.

Next, it was her turn.  The young lady also spoke clearly.  But then, her voice broke as she said the words I’ve been thinking about for a while.

“You asked why I wanted him to become my son.  The thing is, he’s already my son.”

Yes, it was an adoption proceeding.  And yes, the decision by the court was favorable for these young folks.  There was applause.  And photographs.  And more tears.

And lots of laughter.  It was a happier occasion than I’ve ever experienced in a courtroom.

But the words won’t let me go.

“…he’s already my son.”

She wasn’t wrong.  Oh, the judge might have had something to say about that.  Legally, he still had a pronouncement to make, his words making it so.

Still, that child was hers—was theirs—long ago.  We all knew it.  From the first time we saw them together, it was clear.  He loved and trusted them.  They adored him.  It couldn’t have been a better match.

But, I think about her words and I’m struggling to avoid the obvious parallel to our situation.  And by ours, I mean all of ours. 

Yours and mine.

I talked with my friend at the coffee shop about it this morning.  It’s a tough predicament for me.  As much as I don’t want to, I have to talk about it.

I hope you’ll extend a little grace, in spite of it.

Another friend of mine who is a retired Methodist pastor (meaning, he’s still preaching and ministering—the paychecks just aren’t as regular as they once were) said it after reading one of my articles recently.

“I’m not as much of a Calvinist as you are…”

Calvinist?  Me?  You mean, like, predestination?

Well, okay.  My parents were both raised in the Presbyterian church.  On my mother’s side, we trace our roots back to Scotland, where our ancestors fled persecution in the 17th century because of their faith.  To Ireland first, then across the ocean to the colonies in the New World, they escaped, establishing a Presbyterian church in New Jersey, which is still meeting today, two hundred plus years later.

So, there’s that.  But, I believe God has given us the ability to choose, to use free will and go our own way, or to come to Him.

That said, I also believe He guides events and creation.  And, I believe He knows our paths. Before we set out on them, He knows.

It’s hard to argue with the Word.  For me, it is.

The songwriter put it into words for us, centuries ago.

“You see me when I travel
    and when I rest at home.
    You know everything I do.
 You know what I am going to say
    even before I say it, Lord.”
(Psalm 139:3-4, NLT)

As I talked with my friend today, he mentioned the story about the man we call the prodigal son.  He suggested that he was always intended to come home.  Else, why would the father have waited on the road day after day, ready to run to him when he appeared?

But, it was the errant son’s choice.  And it is mine.

And it’s yours.

Home where I belong.  I’ve used the words to mean my home in heaven, after I leave this world behind, but the reality is that, for right now, right where I am is home.

Home.  Where I belong.

Here.  Doing this.

What I’m doing.  With you.

Following Him.

You belong, too.  You always have.

With your Father.  And your family.

For always.

Always.

 

“Not of my flesh, nor of my bone,
 But still, miraculously, my own.”
(Fleur Conkling Heyliger)

 

“You saw me before I was born.
    Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out
    before a single day had passed.
How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
    They cannot be numbered!
I can’t even count them;
    they outnumber the grains of sand!
And when I wake up,
    you are still with me!
(Psalm 139:16-18, NLT)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2025. All Rights Reserved.