Inevitably when I introduce my 4 kids, it is announced, by them or me, that they are all adopted.
Hold on before you start critiquing my adoptive parenting approach.
Understand - it's not something I planned on doing when I first started this journey. I was bright eyed and bushy tailed and thought that I would let the kids disclose their adoption story as they felt comfortable or led to do so. It was a warm and fuzzy dream...that just didn't live in our reality for very long.
I'll explain why in another post, so for now, just accept that it's not part of our reality. Reality for us is disclosing openly, freely and seemingly immediately to anyone and everyone that my kids are indeed adopted. There's no hiding it. We aren't ashamed of it. It doesn't make us uncomfortable. We just let it fly!
And the response I get from just about every single person (check-out person to new teacher to friend) is the same no matter what...
Their head tilts to the right side a bit.
They get a sympathetic/empathetic half smile on their face and say,
"Really. That's just awesome. Awww...they look just like you."
INSERT AWKWARD PAUSE AND BEGIN NODDING
"Could you just not have kids of your own?"
They say this to me, sometimes quietly, but more often than not, quite loudly AND more often than not, right in front of MY OWN kids. (Don't worry...I've got a whole post lined up of phrases you should never say to an adoptive parent, especially in front of their kids. Guess what question made the list????
I answer quickly that isn't the reason at all. I wanted to adopt. I felt called to adopt and so I adopted.
As the question was put to me over and over after bringing Matthew home, I began to really think about exactly when God started writing this story of adoption in me.
The truth is, it began long before you would think...
When I was around the age of 3, I watched a lot of Annie and a lot of Shirley Temple. The orphan and adoption theme that was woven into their stories resonated with me. It resonated with me so much so that I began to weave it into my own story. (Seriously, I don't know how my parents' survived me!)
I was a fair skinned petite little girl with shock blonde hair and blue/hazel eyes. My mom had naturally DARK brown hair, an olive complexion and green/hazel eyes. The little hair my dad had was black and he tanned well. My brother had brown hair and tanned like a Native American. Needless to say, I stuck out quite a bit...which got my little 3 year old brain to thinking.
I didn't look like my parents. Annie didn't look like Daddy Warbucks. Shirley Temple didn't look like any of her "parents". Arnold and Willis sure didn't look like Mr. Drummond (Different Strokes was also a fave.)
So in the same conversation where I "killed" Santa with my parents (Santa Died When I was 3), I decided to clear the air about my "adoption."
"I know Santa's not real. Oh and if I'm adopted, it's okay to tell me. I don't mind."
My parents laughed, not in a mean or harsh way, but in a "what will she think of next" kind of way. Much to my shock and disappointment, I was not adopted. I was/am indeed their genetic offspring. It was a seed though...a seed of understanding that different is okay. Adoption is okay.
That next Christmas, I got my first Cabbage Patch doll. Now this was when Cabbage Patch dolls first came out and riots were taking place in stores as people were fighting for specific Cabbage Patch dolls. Not my mom. My mom grabbed one of the few dolls that was left after the chaos. She brought it home, wrapped it up, and gave it to me. Y'all, that Christmas morning, I opened the prize of all prizes - my very first Cabbage Patch doll! I remember my mom apologizing when I opened it because it was one of the few they had left and she knew how badly I wanted one but probably not this one. I could not have been more excited to fill out that birth certificate and hug it and squeeze it and call it my own. She apologized again and I looked at her and said, "Momma, don't worry. They're all adopted." And with that, I took the sweetest little adopted Cabbage Patch to my room to show him home. It didn't matter to me that he didn't look like me. He was the sweetest little baby I had ever held, he just happened to be black. To this day, he's still my favorite. And God planted another seed that day...a seed of understanding that different is okay. Adoption is okay.
My childhood would be littered with other seeds - family members that were adopted, friends that were adopted, friends that chose to adopt. Looking back, I realize that these seeds grew my desire to adopt because they were seeds of understanding. Different is okay. Adoption is okay.
Just before my freshman year at A&M, I met Danny. We started dating and just never stopped. During my sophomore year, he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. It was then that we began to talk about our life together in ways that we had never talked before - dreams, goals, callings, roles, family. It seemed like we had talked about it all. The church we attended at the time was filled with college students, many of whom were getting engaged and married. The pastor couldn't do pre-marital counseling for every single couple SO he, very wisely, chose mature couples in the church to walk through an intensive 8 week program with engaged couples before being "certified" to get married. There was an entire curriculum with weekly assignments to complete before and after our meeting with the married couple. It was pretty intense.
About halfway through the curriculum, we came to the topic of family:
Did we want children?
If so, how many?
How soon?
Who would take what roles in raising the children?
How would we handle and prepare for various aspects of parenting?
What would our family look like?
While we had talked about our desire for children, we had never really talked about the "how". So, we did our homework separately and came to the meeting. Our mentor couple began to go through the questions and pretty soon, we were asked the question of how many.
I hesitated, honestly, to even write the answer down on the homework. Verbalizing it was an almost impossible challenge because it felt like I was about to drop a relational atomic bomb on my fiance. Finally I spoke up and said I wasn't sure how many kids I wanted but that I always figured adoption would play a role in the building of my family somehow. I held my breath certain that Danny's jaw would drop in disbelief.
It did.
Then he turned his homework page towards me and I saw the words scribbled, erased, and scribbled again.
ADOPTION
It was a word we had never spoken of in regards to God's plan for our life together and yet God had woven it into both of our hearts. Seeds had been planted in our hearts and minds. Seeds that this is part of what God was going to call us to do, together. Seeds of understanding that different is okay. Adoption is okay.
So, when people ask me if I adopted because I couldn't have children of my own,
my answer is a resounding NO.
This was part of my story, our story, before we even had a story.
God had been growing this desire, this calling in us before there was an us.
It would be almost 10 years from that night when the word was first spoken between us until it would be our reality by holding our first adopted son but I think the truth is that it was our reality all along.
It was the process of becoming not me and it began long before you would think...
