The times I was with my father, I never heard him curse or use foul language; come to think of it, he did use the word bastard on occasion. Bastard? Well, as far as I knew, it was a ... "dirty word". I remember being surprised one day in woodshop when I found a file called a "bastard-file" ... wow! I really didn't know what a bastard was.
You see in my day people married and it was animals that mated.
It's sure changed now ... with more bastards on the horizon.
For years now I've been working with dirty little bastards across the border! Kids on the streets, or running in the barrios, children in the orphanages. Girl bastards, boy bastards, young men and young girls.
Bastards all!
Bastard is such an ugly name for these neat kids. They had nothing to do with how they got here but in time they find out the ugly truth. They are a bastard, not because of what they did, but what was done to them! And in time that bastard feeling cuts right into their heart! Worthless, makes a deep wound.
On occasion, to the boys I know well enough, I'll ask that painful question. "Do you know your father? In a silent answer, the boy often shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, looking at the floor; avoiding my eyes. The answer is no. On more than one occasion, I've hugged the kid and whispered in his ear, you're my son and I'll be your Papa. The smile I get as he looks up into my eyes is worth more than money can buy.
The return hug, is a long one.
I've found that bonding with a bastard kid isn't hard at all, and love makes a mighty strong glue.
I'm convinced that God loves all the bastards in the world, and that God intends to love them through people who love Him.
I intend to be there for God's little bastards!
