Free Bridge Called Hope by Kim Meeder Page B

“white knuckling” the lead rope. Everything about his posture was pleading for his son to accept him … as his father.
    Jason turned back toward Brenda and with childlike innocence stated, “Andy’s eyes are also blue …” Brenda continued with gentle grace, “Yes, Andy’s eyes are a beautiful blue as well, and he loves you very much … but Travis’s eyes look like yours … because they
are
yours. You see, Andy is the dad who raised you, but Travis is the dad who
made
you. The same blood inside him is the same blood that is inside you.” Jason’s attempt to process this new information showed as his eyes slowly moved from staring at Travis’s face … to staring at the blood that pulsed within his wrists.
    Brenda cautiously moved on. “Travis remembers you. He remembers holding you when you were a baby, and loving you very, very much. He has been looking for you for a long time … and now he has found you. Travis wants to keep on loving you … because he is your dad. Do you think that would be okay? Travis would like to come to
our house
and visit you. He loves you Jason … and he doesn’t ever want to lose you again.”
    Jason continued to stare at Travis. Again, his small eyebrows came together as he fought to understand exactly who this nice man was that stood before him. Finally, Jason looked back toward Brenda with a surprisingly relaxed expression. Apparently, he had decided that everything she had shared was okay with him.
    Brenda closed by saying, “Travis is the daddy who made you … and as you choose, he would like to become your friend. And when you are ready to choose him as your dad … Travis wants to become the daddy that will raise you. Honey, do you understand?”
    Jason answered her question with a weak nod.
    “Jason, do you want to have Travis lead you around the arena again so that you can talk?”
    Jason’s expression softened slightly as he thought about this suggestion, and again he replied with a wordless nod.
    I was in complete awe. Even though I have the privilege of observing it often, I am always completely amazed at the resilient heart of a child. It appeared as if the veil between them was, thread by thread, being torn in half. The film of uncertainty surrounding each of them was beginning to lift like a vapor.
    A little boy abandoned … then fostered. Once an orphan … now a son. A child without family … takes the hand of his father. The boy once lost … was now found.
    Truth and time … are like that. Combined together, they form a sieve that eventually sifts away all that is not genuine.
    I watched in awe as together father and son circled the arena over … and over … and over. Like ruts in a familiar, well-traveled dirt road, each revolution seemed to further entrench the new truth growing between them. I could see that once again, as with their earlier laps around the arena, the animation, the stories, andthe soft laughter rose from their combined company.
    Relief, joy, love, and “completeness” mulled together in a powerful combination, reflecting the desires of everyone on the ranch. All those present saw how the healing love of a foster family had become the literal stepping stone of reconciliation and support for time to
prove
what is true.
    We all need to be needed, to be special to someone … to become part of a family. Watching father and son choose to become united inspired my own gratitude to rise on the wings of thanksgiving for the “family,” both blood and chosen, that God has provided in my life.
    In a different way, in a different time, in a different voice … someone once did something similar for me—by reaching through what might have looked like impossible odds and inviting me to become part of their family … and it saved my life. The “baton” of parenthood had been passed within my life, and I was glad that I was able to be a small part of this “passing” for another.
    The path of