Written by Michelle J. Goff, Founder and Director of Iron Rose Sister Ministries
Tent Chapel Church of Christ in Blockton, Iowa, was a small church on the Iowa/Missouri border begun by Joshua Florea, father to ten children. His oldest daughter had a son, Glenn, who later had two boys, Charles and Dean. These brothers became neighboring farmers just north of the Florea-donated land for the Tent Chapel church building and cemetery. Joshua’s daughter, Maude, had a son named, Elvis, who later had a son named David, my dad.
Generations of the Florea family went to church together. Maude (aka Grandma Goff) was known for leading singing from the front row, proudly belting out the hymns to keep everyone in rhythm and on key. This rural farming community of family and neighbors gathered on Sunday mornings for worship, potlucks, and fellowship. They rejoiced when others rejoiced, and they mourned when others mourned.
Fast forward a few decades to 1966… Charles and Dean Cobb, both married by this time, were among those who learned of Elvis’ death and his wife Ruth’s resulting nervous breakdown. Dean and Evelyn, his wife, then watched Elvis and Ruth’s two children, my dad David and aunt Vickie, spend two years in an orphanage. Though they had never had children of their own, Evelyn had been a one-room schoolteacher. Dean knew that extra hands on the farm might be a help and mutual blessing. And so, in 1968, at the ages of 15 and 13 respectively, my dad and Aunt Vickie came to live with their distant cousin, Dean, and his wife of only ten years, Evelyn.
Growing up, my sisters and I were unaware of the full background of the story, and I am only sharing a snippet with you here... We would visit Grammy (dad’s birth mother, Ruth) and take her on day trips from the care facilities where she lived. We would spend a week every summer on the farm with Grandpa (Dean) and Grandma (Evelyn), exploring the barn, riding the four-wheeler, fishing in the pond, making cookies, and enjoying the fresh Iowa corn and other amazing cooking from Grandma’s kitchen.
I can still smell the mixture of tractor grease, dirt, and sweat from giving Grandpa a hug in his worn pair of overalls. Scrabble and baking with Grandma were annual traditions. Her recipe of Jell-o cookies became my own Christmas tradition.
While no formal adoption took place, there was never any doubt in our minds that Grandpa and Grandma were family. Dad had been adopted into their family and therefore, we were automatically born into that extension of their love and support.
Grandpa and Grandma did not pass on their last name. But neither has my dad since he had four daughters. None of them are upset at that lack of named legacy because the more important inheritance is one of faith and love.
Our heritage is part of our identity, but it does not define us. You may or may not know the history of your roots. You may have more questions than pride. Your heritage may be filled with brokenness and destruction instead of loving care.
No matter our history or our heritage, we have been given the beautiful opportunity to join a family of faith, to be adopted by the best Father one could hope to have.
3 Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. 4 For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love 5 he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— 6 to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. (Eph. 1:3-6)
Adoption is an inclusion in family rights and privileges, traditions, and legacies. I share Maude Goff’s boisterous singing and Evelyn Cobb’s love of teaching. I was born into a generational legacy of faith and the Florea history of church planters. But when my dad and aunt were left alone as orphans, no longer directly connected to this legacy and those who could model that faith and its traditions, they were adopted back into that family.
It's like they were bought back or brought back, redeemed. They were given the choice of accepting the offer of a new home and family, of being “adopted.” Which would you choose? It is up to each of us whether we carry on the heritage of living adopted.
My family has been intimately and directly touched by adoption. Twice. We give thanks to God for Grandpa and Grandma, but our greater and eternal thanks are to God for His adoption of us as His sons and daughters.
Have you accepted the gift of adoption and eternal inheritance?