Dear Gabriel,
Those may be the two truest words I have ever written. You are Gabriel; a name your parents did not choose, but suits you well. And you are indeed dear. Dear to me, and to all of us fortunate enough to count as “familia.” And, in time, to many others. Gabriel is a strong, beautiful, happy name, taken after one of the Bible’s two named archangels. (By the way, you have an uncle named Michael, after the other one. So, on the angelic front, the Moneys are now fully represented.)
That’s fitting. In the Old Testament, Gabriel means “God is My Strength.” In the Gospels, he is the “Bearer of Good News.” Gabriel told Elizabeth (your sister’s middle name) about the coming of her son John. Most famously, it was Gabriel who told her cousin Mary the good news that Jesus was coming into the world. And into her family. I love that your name is front and center in the most miraculous, unbelievable parenting stories of all time. And in ours. That is such good news.
There are some things, as your grandfather, and now the family patriarch, it falls to me to make sure you know. First, you are loved. In this family you get loved just for showing up. That will never change. You can’t earn it. You can’t lose it. You are loved for who you are, not what you do. You are loved no matter what, both by God and by us. I loved you from the first time I saw a picture of you. That smile just took me in. I laughed about you joining a family whose ancestors were not at all tall people with pretty dark complexions. You’ll fit right in. I brushed back tears and thought, this little child will be my grandson. Of the eight billion people in the world, this boy in Bogota, half a world away will be the one to carry the name my father gave me and I gave to his. Miraculous. Unbelievable. Good News.
I want you to know the lengths that your parents went to make you their son. They did not have to. No one would have thought twice or noticed if they had not. But there was a deep calling that led them down the years long road that led them straight to you. They are a great team and they make each other better. Your mom is an accomplished educator whose special gift is helping children with extra challenges. She good at it because she cares so much about them, and perhaps because she has been one. Your dad is a good man who does whatever it takes to get what needs doing done. My son is tough and tender. Fun and fearless, with a heart for the underdog. And he adores you and your big sister Abby. You know, I think my proudest accomplishment in life is that your Gram and I raised two good daddies. And one of them is yours. No, your parents are not perfect, but their love for you is. On that you can depend.
I teared up – see, there is a pattern here – when I saw the picture of you pulling your little suitcase, leaving behind the only place you knew as home. In that moment, there was one less orphan in the world. You were walking out with strangers who were suddenly Mama and Papa, with strong emphasis on the second syllable. You were walking away from the people that took you in, and for three years, best they could, generously kept you in their care. So, Son, let your new old Abuelo give you some advice. Someday when you think of the Columbian family you don’t remember and the orphanage you may not, be thankful for what they did give you. Life. Safety in a not safe place. A modicum of care and compassion, for which we are grateful. And then forgive them for what they could not. Trust me, you will be better for it. And so will all the people you will ever love. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know.
I want you to know how uniquely amazing you are. You exude personality. Your little body goes a thousand miles an hour. Your mind is quick and you heart is good. I am particularly taken with your sense of wonder and gratitude. In your first week here, your mother told me the phrase you said the most was “para mi?” For me? A bedroom of your own, lovingly painted and put together by your Gram; “Para mi?” A backyard with a playground and two great dogs; “Para mi?” A plate of more than ample portion; “Para mi?” A feisty blond-haired sister to play with and annoy. “Para mi?” Yes, Gabriel, for you! And there is so much more. Stay amazed. Stay thankful. We are all so much more blessed than we deserve.
That’s just how I feel. A grandson to go with those three grand girls; “Para mi?” The chance to teach you guitar and golf. To take you places you don’t even know exist. The chance for your Parson Pop to bless and baptize you. And maybe, if I hang around long enough, to marry you. To watch that tiny body grow into its God designed size. To see that inquisitive mind filling up with new ideas and words, in two languages, no less. To imagine what you may become and get to see you well on the way. “Para mi?” Si. How lucky can one man get?
Just between you and me, I sat alone in the sanctuary of my church last Tuesday, waiting to hear that your flight from Columbia had touched down. When the picture flashed on my phone, I broke down in tears. Your long journey was almost over. And for a fleeting moment, you were the very newest citizen of the United States of America. I am respectfully proud of that. In this, your new country, you will have the opportunity to do and to be whatever you are capable of and willing to work for. And it is a beautiful land, filled with all kinds of people. But I do have to warn you, we are not always at our best when welcoming people from other lands and cultures. Many Americans do not realize how this diversity has, and continues to help make us great. I am sorry in advance if that ever creates a problem for you. But don’t let anybody tell you differently; this land was made for you and me. And by God, Pop’s got your back.
In time, some well-meaning folks may tell you how fortunate you are to be in this family. Truth be told, I believe you are. But know this; our family is far more fortunate and is far more full because of you. Your future is brighter for sure, but then so is ours. We are not who we are without you. And you will never again be who you are without us. I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that.
You are now Gabriel Stiven Money; child of God and child of ours. Blessed and a blessing, with life ahead destined to make you more of both. Thanks for letting me come along for the ride.
Love,
Pop