Let’s play…

Growing up in my Hispanic home in New Mexico was different.  My father was a public-school teacher, so like him, I learned to love and accept anyone, black, white, rich, poor, those who went church and those who didn’t. My dad loved and cared for all of them.  I guess you could say he taught me to do the same and to not be ashamed or defensive about who I was, where I lived, or what I had compared to others.  My self-worth didn’t come from them it came from my father’s love for me.  He never told me or taught me to hate others because they were different. Most of the time he told me to go and play with them and be friends with them…so I did.  In time, we went to school together, sat on a bus together, played sports together. Nothing really divided us.

It wasn’t till junior high that I finally felt the sting of someone who didn’t like me because I was a Mexican-American.  I knew I was, but that label didn’t define me. They really didn’t know me or play with me.  And even though they said it, it didn’t change my outlook on who I was.  I still had that identity with my father who loved me and that was enough.

In a time when people are acting and speaking hate, it reminds me that we need the Father’s love.  He loved us so much that He wanted to restore us back to our true identity.  Not as children of this world, but as His creation, created in His image and likeness.  We need that love so that we can love others so we can play together again.

I am grateful for my culture, but even more thankful that I am a child of God…His son.  “To all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”

Does anyone want to play?