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As an adopted person I’ve lived with the reality of a hidden history. My origin story remains unknown to me, sealed by a court order for almost 50 years now. I know little about my mother—just that she was Mexican and an accountant at the time of my birth. When I was three months old my parents adopted me. Even though my adopted mom is also of Mexican heritage, I was basically raised as a white evangelical. Growing up we…

Today Adopted: The Sacrament of Belonging is officially released into the world of readers, thinkers and practitioners. This is like a birthday for my book, basically! So here are a few ways you can find out more about my book: 1. Adopted: The Sacrament of Belonging in a Fractured World + Giveaway over at SheLoves Magazine. Shout out to my SheLoves sisters who have supported me the entire way. They created the first space for me to write in public,…

One month from now Adopted: The Sacrament of Belonging in a Fractured World will be released into the wild where readers roam. Why am I so excited about this one book? Because I wrote it! Yes, the past couple of years I have been writing, editing, and collaborating with the good people at Eerdmans (look at their Fall catalog... *swoon*) to give birth to this work. I have been talking to my writing group and a few others incessantly through the…

It wasn’t too hard to rouse the excitement in my parents regarding the impending adoption of our son - they were adoptive parents themselves, after all.  Their transition into adoptive grandparents came easy. While the international adoption process felt foreign to them, the broader brush strokes of the adopted life were indigenous to their heart. The arrival of the next adopted generation excited us all - but I’m sure for them there was the added satisfaction that they must have…

Adoption is about the creation of a family, the joining of a child to parents for a lifetime of love and belonging. Most conversation about adoption stems from this understanding. It’s common to hear stories about the complicated adoption process, all the waiting for a placement, the jubilation of homecoming, and the adjustments to the new life together. We listen to scenes from the life of the nuclear family and easily assume adoption only affects them. Limiting adoption to a…

It is Adoption Awareness Month. In that spirit I share some snapshots from my early years, growing in the company of the adopted. *** “Did your parents find you in a dumpster?” I just about spit my juice across the table in disbelief mingled with hilarity. Who could think such a thing? A baby in a dumpster, who does that sort of thing? But there at the elementary school lunch table I got my first question from a bona fide…

Born into privilege, Pharaoh’s daughter was nursed on narratives of Egyptian greatness. She grew up among the elite, watching them parade through the palace with their curried favor and entourage of servants. She never lifted a finger and never knew any different. Life was good alongside the Great Nile River, which seemed to wind and bend to her father’s command. She’d often visit the various balconies of his household and observe the slow rise of the mighty pyramids. She marveled…

“What was her name?” my daughter asks. “Did anyone save a picture of her?” “Do you know where her house is so I can see where she lived?” Her questions come fast these days; always asked with great curiosity and sometimes intensity. A salvaged photograph would mean she could see what her birth mom looked like – do we share brown skin, did I get my long lashes from you, is there any resemblance between us? At night she burrows…

I sat in my study leafing through yellowed documents stiffened by time. I read the letter typed in courier font by Sister Bertrille telling my parents they’ve been approved for the placement of a child. I notice her clear, careful signature. In a subsequent letter she happily grants their request to adopt me saying, “This will be a truly wonderful event for you and your little one.” Again I study her tilted cursive, the seal on my holy writ. The…

[caption id="attachment_1519" align="aligncenter" width="700"] My strong and brave girl. Photo by Tina Francis.[/caption] My daughter asked to light the yellow candle. “Why the yellow one?” I asked, as I always do, giving her opportunity to voice her heart. “Yellow because my birth mom misses me, yellow because I want to thank her for letting me be born before she died.” I struck the match. I lit the wick. The candle burned for the next couple of hours, a sentinel guarding…