My story is far from over, but here’s how it reads so far: I was adopted by my parents when I was 21 days old. I have no siblings, which always has always made me feel like I stand out in a crowd. As a child, I was the strangest kind of person: adopted and an only child. Even if you carry only one of these identifications, you’re different. I’ve been asked questions ranging from, “So do you know who really had you?” to “Do you get tired of being the only kid at the supper table?” The answers were “no” and “yes.” I’m so glad that adoption (and being adopted) is no longer such a oddity.
I still don’t know my biological mother, but I’m never alone at the supper table. So I figured out how to work out one of my identity issues. I knew the only way for me to be surrounded by siblings was to be a mom to them. So after a joyous wedding, I gave birth to our son 11 months later, then our first daughter 10 months after that. We were on a roll. But then we stopped. We were young and life was busy and we weren’t rich, so we decided that an even number of two children was safe and predictable. Of course, parenting is never safe or predictable, but we didn’t know that then. Our family of four seemed just fine until 1999 when we realized that our family wasn’t complete. It seemed odd that we would feel this way since we were unable to have any more biological children. Adoption, of course, was the plan. It was God’s plan first, and He patiently waited for it to become our plan. It did in early 2000, and in late 2001 we traveled to China to add a third daughter to our family.
So now we are a family of five. Life has been anything but predictable. I work with a non-profit that helps families in Ghana stay together by providing child sponsorship and women’s sustainability programs. And my husband is now the Director of Operations of the adoption agency that facilitated our adoption ten years ago, which proves that God has an amazing way of weaving odd strands of our journey into a beautiful, colorful story.