I was born into a blended family. I was welcomed by my parents, two adopted sisters and one sister who was born into our family. After me, one brother was born and two more were adopted. I have always known that there are different ways to get into a family. I thought, for as long as I can remember, that I would some day be a father of a family with children who were born into the family and children who were adopted. As it turned out, even though my wife and I were parents of only two children, one was born to us the other was adopted. Every child deserves to be loved and treasured by family and there are different ways to get into a family.

I was born into a family passionate about staying together. “You can get angry,” my father often said, “but you cannot resign from your family. You can quit a job. You might even quit school. But you cannot quit a family.” No matter what differences appeared, no matter what choices were made, no matter what mistakes marked lives, my parents actively pursued relationship with their children as long as they were alive.

I was born into an extended family. There was always room for family at grandma and grandpa’s house. My father came from a large family and he wasn’t the only sibling who had a large family. When all of the cousins and aunts and uncles came, grandpa had to set up an extra dining table and grandma went into cooking overtime. My mother’s sisters enjoyed getting together and we learned to love our cousins and look forward to their arrival.

I was born into the church. My parents took me with the rest of the family to church camp when I was six weeks old and I went to that same church camp every summer through my 24th birthday. I don’t ever remember a conversation about whether or not we would go to church on Sunday. It was something we simply did. We walked to church in every kind of weather. If it was above 50 degrees we didn’t have to wear a jacket. If it was below, jackets were mandatory. My siblings are not regular church goers as adults, but it sure stuck with me. After retiring as a pastor and teacher I’m still in the pews each week.

I was born into a family where men and women were equals. Our mother was always a part of our family business. Our father was a pilot and our mother earned her pilot’s license before she had children. Our parents rose before the rest of the family and did the bookwork of their family business together before breakfast. A special desk for keeping the business records was built into our living room during a remodel. I have known for all of my life that I was to respect other’s privacy. “You don’t look into a woman’s purse” was a rule that was never violated. After more than 50 years of marriage when my wife asks me to get something for her from her purse, I bring the whole purse to her and let her extract what she wants. My wife and I went to school and graduate school together, were ordained in the same service and served 44 years as pastors always serving the same church. She has been my colleague from the beginning and continues as such.

I was born into a love of travel and adventure. I can’t remember my first ride in an airplane. As our family grew bigger airplanes came into our company. Although we lived in the mountain west, I swam in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans before I was ten and traveled to both in an airplane piloted by my parents. My father would wake me at 4 am and say, “I’m going flying if you want to come along,” and then head to the car. I could get up, get dressed and be beside him before he started the engine. I’ve watched enough sunrises from an airplane that I can see them in my imagination when I am on the ground.

I was born into a family where things were not wasted. My parents’ teenage years were lived in the Great Depression. If an object had some potential future use, it was kept. My Great Uncle Ted, for whom I am named could make anything out of sheet metal. He saved every tin can, cut it apart and flattened it for material to make string dispensers and tape dispensers. When we cleaned out his home after he died, we found a box labeled “pieces of string too short to save.” That is exactly what was in it. My mother saved the whole box and it was in her shed when she died. When the phrase “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle” came into popularity as part of the environmental movement, it seemed natural to me. I am proud of the small amount of trash we set out for pickup.

I was born into an antiracist family. My parents are white and of European descent. They were lifelong members of NAACP. We welcomed African-American children from Chicago into our house through a program called Friendly Town. We hosted strangers from around the world through SERVAS. International students at a nearby college who could not go home for holidays were invited to spend them at our home. We attended Crow Fair and stood for the dancers at the pow wow. We wept as we watched the funeral of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Of course we had our biases and racism is as real in our family as any other, but we were raised to be aware of it and to overcome it when we recognized it.

I was born into love that has no end. We were so fiercely and passionately loved that we are sustained by love even though we have grown and formed families of our own. My parents, two sisters, and one brother have preceded me in death, and their love is still with me every day. Our children were born after my father died, but they know his love and they tell stories of him and my mother to their children. The legacy of love will continue forever.