A gaggle of reporters milled near the wrought iron gate of the famous Revere estate, wishing they had a way past the armed men who stood outside the guard shack. They could see down the long, tree-lined drive to the forty-room, limestone mansion, flanked by horse stables and a beautiful, red barn.

The world was eager to learn more about the state dinner that was about to take place. There had been a steady stream of caterers and party planners, but security wasn’t letting anyone else enter.

Suddenly, one of the reporters spotted a rather ordinary-looking pre-teen a few hundred feet east of the main drive, contentedly guiding his horse through a ravine where he urged the beautiful animal to leap over the fence and head across the road for a run in one of the many hayfields owned by this prestigious family. On a hunch the reporter sprinted down the road and called out to the boy.  “Excuse me. I am a reporter from the People’s Press. Are you a friend of the family?”

The boy pulled back the reigns, bringing the horse to a halt and responded. “No, this is my place.”

“I don’t understand,” countered the reporter, “I thought Mr. Revere was childless.”

“It’s true, dad didn’t have any biological children,” the boy explained, “but I am now his son and all five hundred acres belong to me. I can hardly believe it myself, so every day I ride in a different direction, just to see everything that belongs to me.” 

His interest peaked, the reporter continued. “If you weren’t born into this, how is it that you became part of the family? Were you adopted?”

“Yes,” said the boy with a wide smile.

Then as only the press can do, the reporter peppered him with invasive questions: “Why did he choose you? Do you have an unusually high IQ? Did you work for him? Are you especially skilled in farming? Are you from an influential family? Are you a distant relative?”

“I was one of a dozen street kids,” the boy patiently explained. “We had a boss who made us pick pockets for a living. One day the man who is now my father came to the basement of the warehouse we lived and told the lot of us that he wanted to adopt us. All but me and two of my buddies thought it was a hoax and disappeared onto the streets. Mr. Revere told us he wanted to adopt us – not knowing anything about us. We asked him what the catch was. He said he had a homestead but no children to share it with. So, we got in the limo and came home with him. That was a year ago. My two buddies didn’t last long. They didn’t like taking baths and getting up at a set time – too many rules. So, they ran away. Two months ago we went to a lawyer, signed some papers, and I legally changed my name.”

Having finished his story, the boy nudged his horse, and called over his shoulder, “It’s really pretty simple: I am part of the Revere family who owns this amazing estate because I was adopted, and I didn’t run away.”

Salvation is really that simple. No one earns it. We just take God up on His too-good-to-be-true offer, and He adopts us. It has nothing to do with our abilities, our heritage or our intelligence. We simply leave our old life by repenting, we take on his name by being baptized in Jesus name, and He fills us with his Spirit, giving us what we need to live as part of His family. All you have to do is let him adopt you – and not run away.