Today is February 23rd. A day I always reflect on as it’s the day I was adopted in 1988. I was escorted from an orphanage in Raja Gardens, Delhi, India to Seattle with different caregivers along the way. The only story about the journey that I’ve been told is that while being escorted by a white man I spotted an Indian woman on the plane and found my way to her lap for a leg of the flight. I was a year and a half old.
My story didn’t start on February 23rd 1988. It started long before that and with details I will most likely never know. I’ve come to terms with that and like many adopted children, my story is full of holes. When I was 22 I went to meet the couple that ran the orphanage to learn more, and was encouraged to see the work they were doing and their commitment to children, but I also left with a deep ache.
When I arrived to visit the orphanage it was nap time in the baby unit, but it was only a matter of minutes before a little one caught my eye. She was standing up in her crib, gripping onto the railing staring at me with a stoic gaze. I motioned to one of the caregivers, asking if I could hold her, and after she gave me a nod I scooped up the wide-eyed baby. She stared right into my eyes as her lips began to quiver and the tears ran down her face. She was confused, hungry for familiar, and scared. I felt about the same. Honestly, seeing those sleeping babies in rows and rows of cribs was my first peek into what I could have imagined my own story to be like. My only baby picture is one at 5 months and it resembles more of a mug shot than a gerber baby. After seeing those sleeping baby girls I questioned the sovereignty of God (happens a lot, he’s not surprised) and in my heart of hearts I knew he would be their strength, he would be their protector, and he would be their savior. It’s estimated there are between 15-25 million orphans in India and the majority are girls. That fact puts me in the fetal position. We are talking children, sweet boys and girls, who want a safe place to call home and someone to believe in them. Can you imagine, really imagine, crying and screaming for someone to comfort you, and no one coming? For someone to hold you, to rock you back and forth? For someone to lavish love and affection on you in your most vulnerable state, and not one soul steps up to the plate?
Some of the beautiful older girls in the orphanage. They LOVED getting their picture taken.
Orphans never elected to be without a mother and father. It happened to them. It’s loss. Yet, there is an answer. An answer I celebrated just today. Adoption. Adoption evokes different feelings for different people. For some it creates an unrealistic fantasy, for others it creates fear and anxiety, and for some it’s a mix of both, but a willingness to wade the waters fully knowing they can love hard people and love through hard times. As an adopted child and an adoptive parent I invite you to celebrate with others when an orphan becomes united with a family. It’s beautiful.