"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? 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 son-ship. 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!
