Adoption Stories

You should know that no matter how old you are, I see you as the little girl you once were.

I say this because you tell me you can’t ask Yahweh because you don’t believe in Him.

Because you don’t believe in Him is exactly why you should ask Him. What do you have to lose?

Don’t worry, I know you do have stuff to lose. So let me phrase the argument as a parable:

In 1998 I lost a daughter. In my mind I lost 3. She was a triplet. She was taken from me because I was a foster parent in a place where the laws of custody and adoption were not held in high regard.

Her mother wanted the babies back. If she could not have them herself, she was willing to allow us to adopt them. Brave mama, tough story.

They took the babies. Broke my heart. Drove me to desperate measures.

The last desperate measure was leaving a record.

If you go to the archives of the federal court of western Pennsylvania you will find my record–a quixotic lawsuit I filed so that if I could not get her back, at least she could find me.

If she ever looked.

If she wanted the true story.

Because I was pretty sure she would not find it without a little help from the public record.

And since she was just a baby when they took her, I knew that they could erase me pretty easily.

But I am real and I love her. I was her mother for awhile. And I have never stopped loving her and her family.

God is like that. He is always our first mother, our foster mother, who can then be erased by another story.

But never forget. The story of His love for you is in the public record. It is your job to find it.

I have known for years that my daughter had a choice to look for me or choose to look away.

But I can assure you that I am real.

And I have loved her since the day I met her.

“I Can’t Read This!”

The man bore an uncanny resemblance to Michael Jackson. His speech was staccato and robotic. Clearly scripted.

He wanted me to believe that I should buy magazines from him because

1. He had a rough life
2. He had an eleven year old daughter
3. He was from New York City
4. He was doing God’s work
5. By selling magazines he was helping teens see the world
6. I live in a nice house in a nice place, he would like to live there.

I listened when I wanted to send him on his way. This was not my first magazine appeal. Sometimes it has been children’s books for the needy.

If you don’t need what they are peddling they press you to donate.

One pair of salesmen promised to come back and wash my windows shortly after they (they–two strapping college dudes) said hopefully I wouldn’t kidnap them.

One (my hero) took a donation from me to hand out copies of poetry books.

And he did. He handed them out when he could have just dumped them.

But this fella yesterday did not take my book. I gave him snacks, someone else’s poetry book, some rocking ties and a copy of Just.

He asked what it was about and when I told him he returned it to me. Said it was too sad and he couldn’t bear to read it.

I told him I understood.