The Boy Nobody Wanted
God is my Father
Adapted from Radio Script by Ethel Barrett
Miss Jackson walked briskly across the big downstairs lobby of the hospital. She sailed right past the reception desk like a person well used to the place—sure of where she was going—and made straight for the elevators.
She got off at four. That was the children’s floor, and she automatically turned to the right. It was a familiar course. As she walked down the corridor, she could hear their noisy chatter. They were all behind glass cubicles, and the ones who were feeling pretty good were playing games back and forth... “I am thinking of an object. It’s round and smooth and—” “What color is it?” “Well, it’s... let’s see, it’s sorta—”
But oh, some of them weren’t feeling so frisky. They were sick, or lonely, or frightened.
She stopped in front of one of the cubicles. Um... that was a new boy. She started on—and stopped again. He was arguing desperately.
“But I’m not adopted! My name is Bill Thompson. William James Thompson. It’s ALWAYS been Bill Thompson. Ever since... ever since... well, ever SINCE! Ever since always. I’m not adopted. You call my mother. My name is Bill Thompson—”
Miss Jackson’s heart gave a little tug. She looked around for the floor nurse. “Miss O’Brien. Miss O’Brien... what’s wrong with the boy in 413?”
“413?” Miss O’Brien looked up with a weary sigh. “Oh. Yes. Poor kid. They’ve just told him he was adopted. His foster parents can’t keep him.”
“Can’t keep him?”
“No. They have a serious illness, and he’s developed an allergy... it’s going to take a lot of time and money to cure him and they felt that they couldn’t do right by him. Decided to give him up for his own good.”
Miss Jackson stood very still. For his own good. It was a phrase that sounded so right and felt so wrong. “His chances of being adopted again are small, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Miss O’Brien replied. “They can’t put children up for adoption unless they are without blemish, you know... without any known handicaps.”
Without blemish. The words echoed in Miss Jackson’s mind like a bell. A lamb... without spot or blemish. She looked back at the cubicle where the boy was huddled. “May I have a little talk with him?”
“Sure. Why don’t you wait until he’s alone? There’s a social worker in there with him now. Might be better if you saw him alone.”
Miss Jackson waited. She visited other children—some were new, some were old friends. She talked with them and told them the story of the wordless book, leaving tiny copies behind, but she kept one eye on Bill’s cubicle. And as soon as the social worker had left, she slipped inside.
“Hello, Bill.”
The boy looked up, his eyes red and his face a mask of confusion. “Hello. Do you know me?”
“I’d like to. I know all the children here. I come every day. Don’t you want the rest of your dinner?”
“No,” Bill muttered, kicking at the sheets. “They said if I didn’t eat it all I couldn’t have dessert... and if I DO eat it all, I won’t have ROOM for dessert. They’ve got me comin’ and goin’.”
Miss Jackson let out a little laugh. “Ummmm. Look, I’ve broken a rule just for this once. I’ve already asked for your dessert. They’re sending it in.”
Bill’s eyes widened. “How did y—”
“I’ve had my eye on you for the last half hour. I just knew. It’s ice cream. Chocolate.”
And so the ice cream came, and Bill DID eat some and felt a little better—and a little warmer inside—because Miss Jackson was so kind and so nice. She helped take some of that numb feeling away... sorta made you feel as if everything was alright, even though you knew it wasn’t.
She came often after that—’most every day—and Bill came to look for her... wait for her. Boy, she was swell! It wasn’t just that she brought things; it was that she really cared. She wanted to know what needles they stuck him with that day... he was getting all sorts of tests to see what made him break out and get asthma and stuff. She explained why his mother never came... why it was better for her, and Bill too, if she didn’t.
After a while, he got to be quite cheerful. But then came the day when she found him, a dejected heap, on the foot of his bed.
“Hello,” she said softly. “Well... you’ve busted out before, and got over it. It’s a reaction, Bill. They’ll find it. Look... look what I’ve brought you.”
Bill didn’t even look at the package. “They’re gonna put me in a home for boys ’n girls.”
“Yes. I’ve talked to the social worker. I know.”
“Does that mean I’ll be adopted?”
Miss Jackson swallowed hard. She looked at him, broken out all over his little body. A lamb, without spot or blemish... the words kept running through her head. She couldn’t think of anything to say for a moment.
“I don’t ‘spose anybody’d want me, would they?” Bill asked, his voice trailing off to a whisper. “On account of I keep bustin’ out—”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Miss Jackson said, her voice growing steady and her eyes bright with a story. “Once there was a baby who was condemned to worse than just ‘bustin’ out.’ He was condemned to death, and wound up being adopted by a princess.”
Bill sat up, his interest piqued. “He WAS?”
“Yes. It was when the whole race of God’s people—the Israelites—were slaves in Egypt. They were beaten and treated very badly—but they still increased in number. And finally, the cruel Pharaoh ordered every baby boy that was born... to be killed.”
“Oh BOY,” Bill whispered, his own troubles forgotten for a moment.
“Yes, the soldiers searched the houses. They rooted out the baby boys and carried them away and killed them. It was a terrible time. But there was one family that hid their baby boy—and the soldiers didn’t find him. Finally, he got to be three months old, and he was getting... well, he was getting quite noisy! His family became afraid. They knew they couldn’t hide him in the house forever, so they began to plan how to save him.”
Miss Jackson leaned in closer. “His older sister, Miriam, kept watch. She would give warning signals when soldiers were about—but they knew they couldn’t keep that up. So one day, the mother and father wove a basket. They covered the outside of it with pitch to make it waterproof. Then, one morning, before it was even light, they stole out of the house and down a winding path to the river Nile.”
“The Nile?” Bill asked.
“The Nile. And there, in a spot where the Pharaoh’s daughter herself was in the habit of bathing, they put the little ark, with the baby in it, right in the bullrushes so it wouldn’t float away. When Miriam awakened, she was told about it—and was told to stay nearby—near enough to hear and see what was going on—to make sure her baby brother came to no harm in case they didn’t see him.”
Miss Jackson paused, picturing the scene. “So she did. And pretty soon, the beautiful princess came with all her lady slaves to bathe in the river. The Bible says she noticed something rocking gently back and forth in the bullrushes. She sent one of her slaves to get it.”
“Can you lift it?” the Princess called out. “What is it? Bring it here!”
“And when they brought the ark to her,” Miss Jackson continued, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “and they uncovered it... the baby woke up. And he began to cry.”
“Oh,” the Princess said. “Why, it’s a baby. A beautiful child. A Hebrew. They’ve put it here so it wouldn’t be—” She stopped, for right then, Miriam came running down to the water’s edge. Her heart was beating so fast, and she was so excited about talking to a real Princess, that her legs got all tangled up like a pretzel when she tried to curtsey!
“Oh, Princess—” Miriam panted.
“Yes?”
“Princess... I—shall I go call a nurse to care for the baby for you?”
Miss Jackson chuckled. “Now, whether or not the princess was suspicious, we just don’t know. But anyhow, she told Miriam ‘Yes.’ and Miriam ran as fast as her legs would carry her and brought back—”
“The baby’s mother!” Bill shouted.
“Yes!” Miss Jackson laughed. “The baby’s own mother. And the Princess paid her to do it!”
Bill’s face was shining now. “I knew the minute you said ‘Bullrushes.’ It was Moses!”
“Uh huh. And he grew up to be a mighty man... wise and brave and destined by God to be a leader. He was adopted, Bill. And that’s really what I wanted to talk about. Being adopted. Lots of important people were adopted. Queen Esther... and Daniel, in a way. And I’m adopted.”
Bill looked at her in total surprise. “YOU are?”
“I’m a child of a King. Yes. And my Father is a millionaire, too.”
Bill laughed. “Well, He IS. He owns the whole world. He MADE it.”
“You see, Bill, when we believe on Jesus and trust our lives to Him... we become God’s adopted sons. It says so in the Bible. We’re delivered from the slavery of fear into the freedom of being sons of God.”
“You mean... I shouldn’t be afraid? But I AM afraid.” Bill began to weep. “I’m afraid nobody’s gonna want me. I’m afraid—”
“JESUS wants you. He wants you right now, just as you are—afraid. Tell Him you know He died for you. Ask Him to save you... and then call God ‘Father,’ Bill.”
They bowed their heads right there in the little cubicle—Bill’s tawny head and Miss Jackson’s dark head together—and the late afternoon sun came in through the window and touched them... and seemed to bless them.
“Are you afraid now?” she asked.
“No,” Bill whispered. “No. I’m not afraid. Not in the way I was before. I’m not afraid no matter what happens.”
“That’s what I wanted you to say. Now you’ve been placed as a son... and God is your Father.”
“God is my Father,” Bill repeated. “God is my Father.”
“I hoped you’d see it, before I told you,” Miss Jackson said, her own voice thick with emotion. “Now someone else is going to adopt you, too.”
Bill looked up, rapturous and unbelieving. “Who... who wants ME?”
“I do,” she sobbed. “I do, darling. Don’t cry, Bill.”
“YOU’RE crying,” Bill pointed out, though he was smiling through his own tears.
“I know. Aren’t we silly? Look, there’s a lot of red tape. I can’t adopt you for a while, but I’m going to be responsible for you.”
“But my... this bustin’ out?”
“Oh, you’ll get over that. We all have blemishes, Bill. They just don’t all show on the outside. There’s only One without spot and without blemish... the Lord Jesus. Well... I’ll be back tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. We’ll have lots of time to talk about it.”
She gathered up her wraps and kissed him. “Nite, Bill. Don’t forget to pray before you go to sleep, son. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Goodnite, Miss—good-nite.”
She hurried out of the cubicle, and Bill scrambled up on his cot and pressed his flat little nose flatter against the glass, watching her go. He watched her disappear around the bend... out of sight.
“I’m a child of a King,” he thought. “God is my Father.”
No... he’d never be afraid again. Because she’d be back tomorrow... and tomorrow... and tomorrow.
THE PROMISE
If you have called upon Jesus Christ to save you, you have been born again into the family of God. These things are written that ye may KNOW...
Do you know? Do you know that you are a child of the King? If you are a child, then you are an heir of God, and a joint-heir with Christ. Only God could prepare such a destiny for you. You never had a plan that He didn’t have a bigger one for you. You never had a dream that He didn’t have a greater one for you.
Wake up to the great facts of God. Wake up to what is yours. And take it. Take it, and He’ll be always there... tomorrow, and tomorrow.