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Well, folks, my fifteen minutes is up. I was glad have a chance to share a bit of our adoption story
on a national media outlet. Leading up to the show, my mind was racing
with points I wanted to make about adoption. It's something I'm so
passionate about, and it's hard not to replay what I wish I would have
said. Here's a bit of it . . .
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One of the most discouraging things I have heard people say about adopting a child is that "you never know what you are going to get." I supposed there is some truth to that statement, but I feel that it is usually said with some air of genetic superiority . . . that somehow a person's own familiar chromosomal makeup would be preferable to the "crap shoot" of adopting. It's interesting to me that this notion is held in a society that seems to blame bad parenting on every childhood deviation from perfect behavior. I also think it is interesting that anyone should think that their own family blood line to be better than another without taking into account the mitigating factors of education, privilege, prenatal care, and good parenting. In fact, even in the presence of these things, families from all walks of life have some blips in the tree here and there. Which is why I always find it a little rattling when I've been asked about my son's birth family in a way that indicated the answer would be some sort of an indictment on his character or potential. (This is also why I am tight-lipped about it, because I know the prejudice of "guilt by genetic association" is still pervasive).
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Between 2002 and 2004, I visited an orphanage in San Salvador, El Salvador four times. La Casa de mi Padre (My Father's House) was founded in May 2002 and currently rents two homes on adjoining property in Colonia San Francisco, San Salvador. Each home, one for girls and one for boys, has a houseparent couple who models a loving, Christian family. The two homes can now serve up to 37 children. The picture at the right is of me playing guitar on one of my trips. That's what I mostly did there - played music and sang with the kids. The little boy behind me is Alejandro. He was a sweet child who loved to run and play with the other kids - and he was always interested in my guitar. But on my last trip there in 2004, the workers at the orphanage had grown very worried about Alejandro. He had become withdrawn and was misbehaving at school. He had grown very thin. When I saw him, it seemed pretty obvious that he was severely depressed. All he wanted to do was sleep.
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For some time now, Mike and I have have felt an undeniable pull toward adoption. For the last several years, however, our lives have been too consumed with church work, various crises, and parenting the 2 kids we already have, to thoroughly process what this meant.
Lately, however, this pull has become so strong, so magnetic, that ignoring it is no longer possible. We have traveled overseas numerous times in the past 15 years to places like Kenya, South Africa, Venezuela, and Mexico. On each trip we encountered mind boggling poverty, orphans, innocent children without parents to advocate for them or provide emotional or spiritual guidance. Many of these children were well-cared for in orphanages, transition homes, and health centers. Many, however, were not.
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