Sitting at the kitchen table, Hannah Johnson peered at the cereal box. She was unwilling to eat, but she picked up her spoon. The normally tranquil room echoed with the tedious tapping of her fingers against the table. The soothing hum of her mother's vacuum cleaner resonated on the second floor, a sound she had grown accustomed to over the years. But it frightened her that morning. Maybe it was because of the lingering notion that something was lacking in her life, even with everything she had managed to accomplish in the past six years.
She yelled out, "I must locate my real family," without warning. Mrs. Johnson virtually dropped the wooden spoon as she spun around swiftly from where she was standing at the stove. Her voice was peaceful and compassionate as she asked, "What?" "My greatest goal is to find my original family," she said. Hannah's eyes focused on her hands. Her demeanor was aloof and icy. And she despised the sound of her voice very much, yet she was unwilling to stop it.
Mrs. Johnson's countenance dimmed. A tiny breach developed in her heart, which had been overflowing with compassion for the daughter she had nurtured. "Hannah, this is your real family." Hannah grumbled, an explosion of opposing emotions flashing through her head. "Absolutely not! You are not my real family. You took me in. Like all the others, you could put me back into the system at any time. Mrs. Johnson neared her, empathy and a severe, sad grief in her eyes. "You have been our daughter, Hannah. You are cherished by us. Since the first time we set eyes on you, we have loved you. Could we just let you go like that, in your opinion?
Hannah's jaw clenched as she avoided her mother’s gaze. She was unclear how to react. She felt like wailing and expressing to her mother everything she was keeping to herself for years, especially how worried she was that they would give her away to the foster care system and how losing the love of her birth family still stung like a raw wound. Still, she failed to. She refused to show how badly she was hurting.
She whispered, "Probably, you might." "But I am still wondering about my biological family. I must know who I am and where I come from, and that's the bottom line. Mrs. Johnson stayed mute for some time. Then she stroked Hannah's shoulder affectionately. "You are God's child. Well before you were born, you had been selected. Hannah, your presence is a gift to us. But more than that, the Father in heaven loves and approves of you. Furthermore, no one will ever take that away from you.”
At those words, Hannah's chest tightened; she didn't want her mother to be aware of how painful those words were. She wondered how a so-called good God could cause her biological family to leave her. Swiftly, she stood up, scooped up her bag, and swung it over her shoulder. She muttered, "I'm going to school," and departed the room.
With a passion that she didn't know she possessed, Hannah had flung herself into the pursuit of her biological family. She visited government offices, investigated the internet, and followed up on leads that eventually took her to further dead ends. Her life before the Johnsons appeared to have never existed. It turned out that her biological mother, a heroin abuser, abandoned her when she was a baby, leaving her in the care of a stranger. She entered the foster care system after the stranger took her to a fire station.
Her heart grew resentful with each unexpected revelation. How could her mother simply... forsake her? She stayed in her room late one night after yet another fruitless search, glancing at the stack of papers sprawled all over her desk. She felt lost and void, as though her perplexity intensified with the sum of time she spent looking for solutions. There were no sufficient explanations or answers to the issues that haunted her. Only a road filled with pain and denial. She attempted to dismiss the thoughts by closing her eyes. Still, they refused to go. Why did my mother not want me to stay? She asked herself, yet she found no answers.
She seemed to be indifferent to the affection that was all around her throughout the six months that she was searching for her family of origin. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, however, devoted themselves to demonstrating to her that love is unfailing. Consequently, everything they did remained the same even though she resisted them every time they showed her affection. They persisted in their belief that she would eventually realize that everything she had been seeking had been in front of her the entire time. They provided for all her needs, and although she became skeptical and dismissive, they remained more affectionate. Their actions spoke for themselves regardless of whether they spoke to each other or not.
Eventually, the holidays rolled around, and the Johnsons gathered around the table throughout Thanksgiving week, eating, laughing, and telling stories. To Hannah, however, it seemed to go on forever. Over the past few weeks, she had become more detached, and the fractures in her heart were apparent. Her father's encouragement to be grateful for family and love pinched as they prayed, but not as much as it used to. The humiliation she felt in her own heart was more pronounced than the happiness of being embraced by caring people.
She excused herself and retreated to the living room after dinner. The room was filled with pleasing light from the softly sizzling fire. She reached for her father's Bible, which had been lying on the coffee table, and casually turned the pages. Ephesians 6:2–3 compelled her fingers to pause. It said, "“Honor your father and mother, which is the first commandment with a promise: That it may go well with you and that you may enjoy a long life on the earth.” Hannah sensed a deep stirring in her soul as she stared at the words. Even though she had heard this verse on numerous occasions before, something felt different this time.
She had the impression that God was communicating to her openly. The enormity of her disrespect to the Johnsons and her unwillingness to acknowledge their love pressed down on her chest, making her feel awful.
Her mind was churning. “I've been very self-centered. I have been awaiting their abandonment of me. Yet their love for me continues to grow. Furthermore, I regarded them as though they were disposable,” she said to herself.
For the first time, she recognized just how deeply her actions caused harm to them, and her heart sank. I have been driving them away despite the fact they've given me everything.
Hannah dropped to her knees in the heart of the floor of the living room. With tears in her eyes, she said, "God... I'm sorry."
Hannah went to her parents the following morning, distraught. Her voice trembled as she spoke up, and her eyes were red with tears. "Dad, Mom, I... I am sorry. I have handled you horribly. You've not once sent me away, although I've been acting as though you would. Even when I didn't deserve it, you maintained your affection for me. She was welcomed and firmly embraced by her parents, who had been longing and praying for this moment. Knowing that their daughter had at last accepted the truth—that she was loved, without conditions—they wept with delight and praised God.
As she clasped them, Hannah's heart grew grateful, and the strain of her past started to fade. She understood she was genuinely loved for the very first time in her life. Hannah's connection with her parents grew stronger throughout the course of the following two years. Prayer, therapy, and an enormous amount of patience made her overcome her fear of rejection and absorb her parents' love. Then one day, she heard the pastor quote the very same scripture in Ephesians that had gotten her to realize the importance of honoring the mother and father she had. She listened joyfully to the sermon and muttered under her breath, "Lord, thank you for my mother and father, and please help me honor them as you have asked me to.”
