Swinging in a hammock chair on my parent's patio, I recently learned something about them that I either never knew or had forgotten. They told me how when they were dating, the first time my mom had gone over to my dad's apartment, she discovered he had a couch that she had previously owned. She'd donated it to Salvation Army, and he bought it, well before they had ever met.
As I listened to that story, and watched them smile as they told it, I imagined how that experience must have deepened their mutual sense of connection to one another--that feeling that they truly belonged together.
It's oddly comforting to know that I was born not just from sex, but from romantic love. It's humbling in a way, the thought that my story is a little branch shooting off from someone else's story. But it also seems to be a boost to my sense of self-worth, knowing that I owe my existence to a loving relationship.
It also makes me think that this is perhaps why Christ felt it so important to know God as a loving father. Even if I had come from a one-night stand, or a broken home, I could still know that I am a creation of love, a love as eternal and pure as anything can be.
