I’ve always considered myself a religious person, but I’ve always put more emphasis on free will than on God’s sudden intervention into our lives. Nevertheless the events of our adoption journey seem to show a divine pattern that’s hard to miss.
In kindergarten I played “house” with two classmates. I was the mommy and they were my children. I continued the play long after the school year ended, long after losing contact with these girls. I played for several years in fact, adding to my “family” by adopting imaginary children. Each of my adopted children had names and many had some kind of special need that I had read about somewhere. Much of my play involved “taking trips” with them, reading about destinations like Alaska and Mexico, writing lists of what we’d need to pack, boarding the boat or plane.
I ended up with a family of ten children, eight of them adopted. For the father figure of my family, I imagined my “husband” to be the dad on the Little House on the Prairie TV show. (The fact that I later ended up marrying someone named Charles is purely coincidental. I think.)
In college I talked to my boyfriend about my feeling that I would adopt a child one day. He said it took him a little longer to come around to the idea, but by the time he proposed to me he fully expected adoption to be part of the deal.
After we had one birth son (with complications before, during and after the birth), we began the adoption process, looking at “waiting” children. Some people told us we would know our children when we saw them. I didn’t really experience this feeling. In fact, we looked into adopting several kids (one whose story and photo I became quite attached to) but it didn’t work out. When we first saw our daughter as one of several cases presented to us, I nearly overlooked her. (My husband was a bit more perceptive.) Later we would marvel at her similarity in personality to our son.
After we adopted our daughter Meg, I experienced a relapse of a medical condition and was not sure that an adoption agency would let me adopt again. One night before bed, I said to my husband, “You know, I’m really close to my sisters. I just can’t imagine Meg not having a sister.”
At eight-o-clock the next morning I received a surprise call from Meg’s former caseworker. Meg had a sister.
Please see these related blogs: