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NOWHERE MAN #7

A GOOD DAD NAMED TERMINATOR II

I’d like to tell you a little story today about a baby girl named Jessica. Actually, she wasn’t Jessica for very long — and that’s kind of the story. This is courtesy, by the way, of a wonderful, award-winning book entitled Fatherless America, by David Blankenhorn. We’ve used it before on some programs, and as we think this week about a Nowhere Man, or a Nowhere Woman, or a Nowhere Kid . . . well, Jessica comes to mind.

Back in 1990 a man named Daniel, who already had two kids — whom he hardly ever saw and didn’t support financially — got involved with a new girlfriend. She got pregnant. But, before the baby was born — in fact, before Clara Clausen even had a chance to TELL Daniel about the pregnancy — they split up. Clara, for a variety of reasons, decided she just wasn’t going to be able to keep this baby. By the time the little girl was born, she had a new boyfriend, and she put HIS name on all the papers, listing him as the father. A couple in Michigan adopted the little baby — thrilled, of course — and named her Jessica. So far so good.

Well, back home, Clara made the mistake of admitting to her FIRST boyfriend, Daniel, that he was actually the biological father of a new little girl. Now, despite the fact that he wasn’t providing for the two children he already had, he got in a huff and decided to sue to get this third baby back. There was a long, expensive, dragged-out court proceeding . . . and as the wheels of justice turned, the court system gave this little baby girl a nickname, or acronym, really. They called her just B. G. C. — Baby Girl Clausen. She wasn’t Jessica any more, just B. G. C. A three-initial door prize to be won by either one side or the other.

Amazingly, this Daniel Schmidt won the case. The little girl, by now a toddler, was taken AWAY from her Michigan parents. Now she wasn’t Jessica. She wasn’t B. G. C. Schmidt and this Clara, who had now reconciled and married each other, decided to call the little girl JANE Schmidt. And author David Blankenhorn observes, with a bit of cynicism: “Her third name in less than three years.”

Quite a story, isn’t it? And I suppose we could look at the glass from a half-full perspective, regardless of the legalities of it all, and be glad that here was a father who at least struggled to give a child a name and an identity. But how many of our kids are almost literally going through life without a name? Because of abandonment or divorce or protracted court proceedings where everybody is Baby Jane Doe, the hurt of namelessness is such a real thing.

Blankenhorn has a lot of these stories, and some of them you have to read through two or three times, and almost get out a piece of paper and a pencil and make a flow chart, trying to keep track of which kid belongs where. In an anecdote entitled “Thicker Than Blood,” he describes a woman named Diane. She has two kids, but they live with her former husband and his new wife. Now Diane has a baby boy of her own, and names him Larry, Jr., after Larry, who is currently living with her. Diane and Larry break up, and HE takes the boy with him out to California to live. That’s Chapter One.

Now Diane meets someone new. They get married. She and her new husband decide they’d like to have custody of the little boy, so they file suit. Well, Larry, out in California, isn’t too excited about that, so he gets a lawyer too.

Now, hold on to your flow chart, because after all this, somebody finally figures out that Larry isn’t really the boy’s father at all. Even though he was the live-in boyfriend at the time. Oops. Turns out a man named Randy, who shows up unexpectedly at the trial, wanting custody . . . HE’S the biological father. So, if you’re counting on your fingers with me, we have: one, a former husband. Two, we have Larry. Three, the new husband. And four, Randy, the guy with the DNA credentials.

The kicker to the story is when they get to the grand finale in court, and Diane weeps to the judge that her little boy doesn’t have “(quote) a real father.” And Larry’s lawyer pipes up: “Your Honor, one more father around here and we’d have a bridge club.”

Well, you know, friend, that tag line is amusing, maybe . . . but there’s not a thing in the world funny about the REAL pain being felt by kids who don’t have much of a name. And this Diane has a point: having four names is a whole lot, maybe, like having none at all.

What does the Word of God, though, say to this little Larry, Jr? And to B. G. C., also known as Jessica, a.k.a. Jane Schmidt? In the Gospel of John, chapter ten, there’s a paragraph or two that I think must be addressed directly to the Nowhere Kids of the world. And it’s good news that the print in my Bible is all in red, because that means it’s Jesus Himself talking.
“I am the Good Shepherd,” He says.

And right there the motif of a shepherd makes us think of a strong protector holding an infant lamb. A “kid,” if you will. So the imagery is certainly right.

“I am the Good Shepherd and KNOW My sheep . . . and they know Me.” Then Jesus adds: “The Father knows that I’m ready to give My life for My sheep.”

“I know My sheep,” Jesus says. He knows our names. Oh, the court system might give a kid an acronym; an overturned adoption — what a wrenching thing THAT is, by the way — might have a child getting a name, then losing it, then getting another one. “Does ANYBODY want me?” he or she wonders. “Who AM I?” But through the red tape of it all, the strong Shepherd quietly whispers: “I know you. I know your name. I have your identity locked up safely in My heart. Don’t worry.”

This David Blankenhorn borrows a story from a book entitled Do I Have a Daddy? by Jeanne Warren Lindsay. Listen to this:

“‘What about Daddy? Didn’t he want me?’ asked Eric. ‘Your daddy was excited. He came to see you when you were very little. But then he went away.’ ‘Did he like me?’ asked Eric. ‘Oh yes! And he was very proud of you,’ Mother replied. ‘Then why did he go away?’ asked Eric. ‘Caring for a baby is a big job,’ said Mother. ‘Your daddy wasn’t ready for that.’ ‘Oh,’ said Eric.”

That’s a tough little story, isn’t it? On the other hand we have Jesus, who says to these nameless kids, these children with no fathers:

“I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”

I like the extra emphasis found in the Living Bible paraphrase . . . and you know that children everywhere like to hear a mom or a dad repeat the good news.

“I will never, NEVER fail you nor forsake you.”

I know that I have to address with you the common sentiment that sometimes tears away at the edges of what we’re preaching. And it’s this feeling: “Lonnie, what you’re saying is fine — but that’s BIBLE. That’s the ‘(quote) myth’ or the sweet-by-and-by of Scripture . . . while I really AM fatherless in America. I really don’t HAVE a dad, and don’t tell me that Jesus counts, because at Christmastime I still don’t get any presents.”

Friend, I know what you’re saying. Let me reply with just one more Blankenhorn anecdote from his book:

“In the highly popular 1991 action-fantasy movie Terminator 2,” he writes, “Arnold Schwarzenegger plays a high-tech robot who becomes a father figure to a boy named John Conner. “I wish I could’ve met my real Dad,’ the boy says. ‘Mom and him were only together for one night.’ Sara, John’s mother, watching her son bond with the robot named Terminator, finally finds her answer to the father problem. To Sara, ‘it was suddenly so clear. The Terminator would never stop, it would never leave him, and it would never hurt him, never shout at him, or get drunk and hit him, or say it was too busy to spend time with him. It would always be there, and it would die to protect him. Of all the would-be fathers who came and went over the years, this thing, this machine, was the only one who measured up.”

That’s our dilemma. Flesh and blood has failed us, and we feel like the only faithful fathers are “Terminator II” or a pale, fictional Jesus.

Well, friend, I can only respond by saying that this radio ministry’s 70-year-heritage is staked on the premise that “Terminator II” is fiction and Jesus Christ is absolutely and eternally real. Right now. He is real. When He says to us, “I know your name,” He knows it! Right now . . . He knows it! When He says, “I will never, NEVER fail you or forget you or walk away from you, or leave you, or lose you,” those are not digitally fabricated movie moments from James Cameron; they’re the bedrock reality you can base, not just your NAME on, but your life. Your everything. Jesus is real; I stake my LIFE on it, and so have millions of others. No one else in this world can sweep away a name that He knows. No one can shred the passport that He gives to you.

And if you say, “But He’s invisible,” I would only respond: “Just wait. He won’t be for much longer.”