The Name on the Mailbox

In 2019, a family in Grand Rapids, Michigan, finalized the adoption of their eight-year-old son, Marcus, who had spent four years in foster care. The judge signed the papers, the courtroom cheered, and his new parents drove him home. But Marcus kept calling them "Mr. and Mrs. Patterson" for weeks. He set his shoes by the door each night, packed tight in a plastic bag — ready to leave if they changed their minds.

One Saturday morning, his father, David, walked Marcus outside to the curb. A brand-new mailbox stood at the end of the driveway. Painted on the side in bold letters: PATTERSON — and underneath, in smaller script, the names of every family member. Marcus saw his own name listed right there alongside theirs.

David knelt beside him and said, "This is your house, son. Your name is on it. Nobody is sending you back."

Marcus buried his face in David's chest and whispered, for the first time, "Dad."

That is exactly what Paul describes in Romans 8. We do not receive a spirit of slavery that drags us back into fear — packing our bags, wondering if we belong. The Spirit of the living God writes our name into the family of the Almighty. We are not guests. We are not foster children on probation. We are heirs, co-heirs with Christ, and the Spirit Himself bears witness deep in our souls that we can cry out the most intimate word in any language: Abba, Father.

Your name is on the mailbox. You are home.