I once sat on the board of a small non-profit aviation group that hauled mail and supplies from FL to the missionaries of Haiti. While there I overnighted in the squalor of teeming Port-au-Prince with a saintly missionary family who maintained a small orphanage in their home for 9 Haitian boys. I recall one of them, about 5 years old, as he approached my chair with an angelic smile that nearly swallowed his face. He had scars on his arms and legs from rat bites in the dump where he had been abandoned as a baby.   

I had visions of that precious child as I watched with much emotion Amy Barrett go through the White House rituals of her ascension to the pinnacle of the judicial system of the greatest nation on earth. I do not know how Judge Amy’s two adopted Haitian children began life, but the best circumstances in the poverty of Haiti would be abysmal by suburban Cincinnati standards. What a long way our Gracious God has brought them, plucked from the fire of heathen Haiti into a godly American family, and there to rise even further to breathe the rarified air of the White House Rose Garden before they reached the age of majority. What a witness to Amazing Grace!

I rejoice with them! I, too, am the unworthy recipient of that Amazing Grace. I, too, am adopted, a brand plucked from the burning into the family of God, enroute to the pinnacle through the exertions of, not Mom, but my Elder Brother, the first of many, the Son of God. That pinnacle is higher above the Rose Garden than the Rose Garden is above the slums of Haiti, and it is not transitory but forever. Our God reigns.

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