Birthday Gratitude

As I am blessed to see another birthday, I find myself in deep introspection. Mostly I pause in gratitude, savoring every morsel of the delicious blessings that I am aware of.  I am approaching one year since I began my search. As that anniversary nears, I marvel at the journey that I have taken with God and myself.  I am grateful.

Let The Truth Unfurl

The Truth has always been.
It was a beauty to be discovered, a treasure to be obtained, and a breath to be taken in and exhaled out.
Truth has always been.
Truth was my ambition, it was my goal, and my mission
Truth has always been.
It was the fire under my feet, the wind beneath my wings, and the gentle push in my back
Truth has always been.
Truth is the heavy ache in my belly that there is something more; it the gnawing thought in my mind that something is missing; it the urge in my soul that I cannot be free without it
Truth still is.
It is the meaning of my search, the light on my path, the compass to my journey
Truth still is.
Truth is the catalyst to my healing, for I can not heal from secrets, lies, and ignorance.
Truth still is.
Truth is the painful yet healing cut of a sterile scalpel
Truth will always be.
Truth will be the light at the end of the day and the brightness that dispels the darkness
Truth will be the essence, the base, and the reason
Truth will always be.
It will be that open door, those trusted keys, and that gaping window
Truth will always be.
Truth will be that treasure to be sought and cherished; unfurling in the lives of all who will hear and take heed.
Truth will forever be.

The Power of 3: Past, Present, Future

 I've heard it said that things happen in threes. They are usually similar events occurring in close succession. There were three catalysts that inspired... no propelled me into searching for my biological parents. I'd participated in my first (and possibly last) mud run. During the run and all of it's obstacles, I injured my tailbone. Nine months after the race, it had not healed. I went to an orthopedist to discover that I'd possibly fractured it. I also found out that as a young woman in my early thirties, I had severe arthritis. My legs were incredibly weak. I have a fitness career, so I was in great shape. However my joints were degenerating. I knew at that point that my condition was hereditary. I had no answers. On a sidenote that's totally related: It was the first time that I'd been to a doctor's office that had a space for adoptees to check for the lack of a medical history. I took a picture of it and sent it to my husband.
 The second and closely occurring push came when a dear friend's estranged father died. What was so heartbreaking is that she had not seen him since she was five, and he died without them ever reconnecting. All that I could see was loss.There were things that they'd never get to say to one another. There were lost experiences, time, and opportunities to ask questions. The truth is that those things had been lost while he was alive. He wasn't there when she was in the first grade. Her father missed her plays. He didn't teach her how to drive. Only one parent sat proudly at her high school graduation. He'd missed her life while he was alive. It was a painful reality. I didn't want to miss any opportunities in grasping the chance to know who and where I came from. It wasn't about making up for lost time. I just began to feel time slipping away. My friend's experience helped me to realize and to live in the NOW.
 Thirdly, and dearly, my two oldest children knew that I was adopted as an infant. They were intrigued. They began to press me for answers about our heritage. My children had a deep yearning to know the truth. Their truth. I could no longer stand as their only history. We all wanted to be linked. Branches on a tree. This was our past and my children are the future. It was time to search...

I've Seen You

I think that I've seen you mom.
When I stare off into space and my mind runs free, I've seen you.
Every time I pass through a crowd, I think that I've found your face
When a seasoned woman of love hugs me tight from her soul, then I know that I've felt you
Each time my name is said with a a soul liberating ring, I'm so sure that I've heard you
A meal made with well worked and wrinkled hands and a heart of gold flavors my curious palette, and I'm grateful that I've tasted you.
I sit with my daughter and I comb through her dark curly strands. It's silky and easy, yet it coils by it's own strength. It's confident and naturally relaxed, yet it has a mind all it's own. Braiding it is like plodding through lush underbrush, and weaving carefully through my history. Mom, I'm confident that this is your hair.
The sweet aromatic waft of roses fills my nose and delights my senses. The hairs on my head stand at attention and my skins cools. Your fragrance will always be deeply gratifying
Much like an embrace into a warm bosom and the nourishing nectar from those same breasts, somehow deep down I know that you've nurtured me

As I walk through the seasons of life and the sweet winds of change brush my face, I'm certain that you have kissed my cheek
When my presence is caught in the reflection of a mirror, and my eyes lock into my image,with majestic awe weighing heavy in my being, I know that I've seen you.
Seeking God for strength to look into my own eyes and say "I love you" ; most certainly I love you too.
I know that I've seen you.

Arrested Development - Tennessee

"Take me to another place, take me to another land. Make me forget all that hurts me. Help me understand Your plan."

Set me Free. Take Me Home

I've never been one for being a slave. I mean, who really wants to be enslaved. No freedom to come and go as you please. No liberty to act in your best interest. Then, there are the chains, the whippings, and the beatings. The degradation, abuse, and violation. The brainwashing and the raping. The separation and the assimilation. And, one that is enslaved endures these heinous acts just to survive. And, it's beyond a struggle. Struggle seems too light a word to describe the ultimate war against slavery. The soul yearns for freedom. It cries and groans deeply unto God to be released from bondage. No longer willing to be held down and held back. It's destiny is calling out. Generations unseen sing a song that has yet to be uttered in this realm. The words are faint, but the soul knows it's rhythm. Creation waits expectantly for the oppressed to run free. The depths of the earth wail within and without for determination to give way to the compulsory action. Ignore the mind that has been altered and bent to submit to forceful decimation of individuality, and answer diligently to the heart that has been birthed of the Creator's purpose for each life dwelling this plane. No, I've never been one for slavery in any form. For in any form, physical, mental, emotional, financial, or spiritual, slavery will confine the entire person. Even today people wear chains that we don't see with the naked eye. Read this with understanding. The act of adoption was a form of slavery to me. Money exchanged. Name changed. Origins and heritage lost. Displaced from my tribe, and expected to assimilate and imitate. Secrets. The inner turmoil is metaphorical, and yet it was tangibly real. Don't get it twisted. I am thankful for my family. But, there is real pain that is mixed into the adoption scenario. The soulful rise of determination from within my heart in order to begin my search was like a maidservant plotting her freedom. I was looking to find "home". I was looking to find me...

First Blood Relative

During college, and even after I had my first child, I would flippantly search for my birth parents. During that time, I did not try to contact the agency that handled my adoption. Honestly, I really didn't know how to search. I did not ask anyone who had been through the searching process. I'd just get on the internet and search with the small bit of information that I had. That information included my birth mother's physical description and age. My birth father's information was so vague that I often brushed over it. After I had my first child, the wonder in my mind infected a great longing that'd been held in my heart. I held my baby and she looked so much like me (and her dad). Finally, I knew and beheld a blood relative. She was my world. She seemed to be such a mystery, and I was her only history. What traits did this precious miracle hold within her tiny being? What characteristics came from me and my side of the family? Her birth brought more questions and angst than that of a typical birth with known heritage. She became my treasure, yet the void in my soul deepened. I felt lost. Not knowing my history made me feel as though I had no anchor. I wanted to know who I was and where I came. And now I wanted my daughter to know.

Oh The Places You'll Go

I've always loved the sound of a train passing in the night. The sweet sneeze of the whistle blowing in the dark air. The hum of the wheels as they chugged along the track made the sound of a promising song within my soul. There was the promise of adventure in far off places. That whistle beckoning me to jump aboard and go abroad. I'd lie in bed and let the sound encourage my youthful imaginings. Somehow I was comforted in knowing that there was life beyond where I was in that very moment. Train lullabys sang out that it was okay to sleep and dream, for in your tomorrow you can travel far away and be free. Your ticket awaits. You need only seize it and believe it. The pressure of this strong metal beast passing through the night,  resonated deeply in my spirit. With a deep breath and a smile on my face, I'd fall asleep happy and cozy.

Happy 17th Birthday to Me...

Through my teenage years I would wonder about who my birth parents were, especially my birth mom. I tried to fill their voids with fantasies of whoever I wanted them to be. In my mind, my birth mom was gorgeous and kind. She was easy to talk to. She listened and offered loving wisdom. She was incredibly proud of me. She longed for me... On my seventeenth birthday I had what felt like a bit of a meltdown. I was in my room, and I was hysterical. On that very day, I wanted to know did my birth mother think of me. Did she miss me? Did she long for me? Did she even remember that it was my birthday? I sat on my bed, and through the blurriness of my tears, I wrote her a letter. In that letter, I poured out my heart. I asked her everything that I said previously in this post and more. I had an angry pen. There was so much hurt, anger, and somehow a tiny sliver was left for love. When I was finished writing, I flopped over on my bed in an exhausted heap of a sobbing teen. "Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to meeEEEE. Happy Birthday to me."

"What the F*** is going on?!" (A tidbit form Survivor's Remorse)

"Survivor's Remorse" is really hitting home with me this season. While Cam and Mary Charles know who their mother is, Mary Charles is in the dark as to who her biological father is. These screen shots describe exactly how an adoptee, or a person who does not know one of their biological parents feels. There is a huge chunk of your beginning missing. It's like someone ripped the prologue out of your book. You're left wondering "What is REALLY going on?!" It's an ache that gnaws at your heart and mind. You want to know your truth.  And so the the search begins. The spark is ignited into a full on fire that burns within you to find out where you come from.

Matthew West - Family Tree (lyrics)

This beautiful song describes my story, my hopes, my heart. I look back at my family tree, my roots, and I see such brokenness. By God's amazing Love, the "chains of mental bondage, and the continual loops of defects"(Robert Sibley) are being broken. Peace.

A Shocking Secret: Bill Griffeth Speaks on the Today Show

This morning special guest Bill Griffeth appeared on the Today Show. He is the author of the book "The Stranger In My Genes". In his book he shares the results to a DNA test that his cousin convinces him to take. Shockingly he finds out that the man that he grew up knowing as his father was not his biological father. He describes getting a phone call from his cousin that rocked his world. It altered his reality. Bill said that the news left him feeling as though he were floating. His heart started racing and he just couldn't gather himself. From that point. he began to traverse the stages of grief. And four years later, he is at acceptance. Bill's journey led him to speak candidly with his, then 94 year-old, mother. She admitted that she'd had a fling. It blew Bill's mind, to say the least. At this time, Bill discovered that his biological father was deceased. And the grief deepened. All opportunities had been lost. I bawled as Bill explained his wide range of juxtaposed emotions. My heart was wrung out in the midst of my living room. He'd just openly and publicly explained a lot of what I've been feeling in this time of meeting and reunion. I understood exactly what he was saying when he talked about what a gift this was for his children and their children. He needed to know...

Growing Up Adopted

Honestly, I always felt out of place. I was the cliche' square peg in a round hole. I didn't look like my adoptive parents, and my temperament was so different from theirs. Differences weren't encouraged or welcomed. They were not accepted or embraced. Don't get me wrong, I was financially provided for. I was materially rich in my young eyes. But, something so much deeper was missing. From the outside, my family looked wonderful. Often people admired us. They wanted to be a part of our four person front. Some even aligned themselves as "godchildren" of my adoptive parents. We appeared put together. But the inside of our home was a war zone. A battlefield covered in slain self-esteem, shattered identities, and wounded souls. I was a body with a fragmented soul. I didn't know who I was. The person that I felt true to being and becoming was seen as weird, goofy, and often called "queer". I was broken and lost. No anchor. No roots. Often floating. I wanted to love being in a family. I wanted to know what it was like to be unconditionally loved. I wanted to know where I came from. Who were my biological parents? Where were they, especially when I was hurting. Why had they given me up for adoption? I just didn't understand. My reflection in the mirror was foreign to me. I didn't recognize myself, because I could not see myself in anyone around me. I hated family tree projects. I would construct a family tree using my adoptive family's ancestors. Those ancestors did not belong to me. It was not my history. These were not my roots. It felt like an empty and meaningless task. The project would be completed, but I had huge inward holes. Chapters ripped from the beginning of my story. Missing chunks of knowledge of self. Just endless questions that scrolled on and on...

"Once I was 7 Years Old..."

 Call me Emm. I've known I was adopted since I was 7 years old. No, my adoptive parents weren't forthcoming. I was just looking around through old pictures. I like pictures. I liked looking at myself as a baby. But this one baby picture was different. It didn't say the name that I was called, it said a different name. Patricia. Huh? Who the heck was that. When I asked my parents about the picture, then they broke the news to me. Adopted. My head started spinning. What would happen next? Would my adoptive parents give me away too? They tried to assure me of their love. They said that they'd help me look for my birth mother when I got older. But then they swore me to secrecy. That same secrecy that they'd kept up for 7 years. All of a sudden I felt ashamed to be me. I felt like I had to comfort them and assure them of my loyalty. I was 7.