God Brings Children, Adoptive Parents Together

By MARY ANNE CASTRANIO, Staff Writer

Published: November 13, 2003

For those of us who are a part of the adoption community, every month—every day—is a celebration of adoption. However, we also acknowledge November as National Adoption Month so that we can share with the rest of the world how wonderful it is to form a family through adoption.

“Where’s her real mother?”

I looked at the sales clerk staring at my daughter and said, “Pardon me?”

“Where are her real parents?” she repeated. “You know, where is she from?”

“She’s from Kennesaw,” I said, happy to make my point. “And I’m her real mother.”

If people pressure me, I sometimes tell them that my daughter was born in China and that I adopted her.

But I am her “real” mother—I insist on that point quite emphatically.

I’ve never quite gotten used to some of the questions that people ask me—in front of her, too, as if she cannot hear—because they are curious about why an adorable little Asian girl with a Southern accent is talking nonstop while dancing along beside a middle-aged Italian woman (also talking nonstop). We are quite the pair. Obviously, we don’t really look alike, although Amy is quick to point out that we both have dark brown hair and eyes. But we are, most decidedly, a family—a very happy family, brought together by the grace of God.

In June of 1998, after 41 happy years as a single person, I made a long journey to become “Mom” to a tiny baby girl born on the other side of the ocean in China.

Trust me, God got me there. I am not the best of travelers. I am petrified about flying, frankly. I overcame the fiercest of fears to get on a plane—seven times in that one trip—just to get my baby.

My family and friends at home just prayed me through that trip.

My sister and my best friend came along because I needed them to witness the miracle and to be with me at the most important moment of my life.

Instead of a hospital room, my child and I met each other in a barren government office, with cameras flashing, tears flowing and smiles shining. Four other families were also formed alongside us that day, and that one room was scarcely large enough to contain the intensity of the emotions that swirled around us.

At some point, I stood before a government official, raised my hand, and promised to love this child for the rest of our lives and to treat her as my own daughter.

It was a holy moment.

I’ve often wondered why there isn’t a sacrament of adoption, similar to the sacrament of matrimony, so that I can stand in front of all and promise to “love, honor, and cherish” my daughter in front of God and everyone. As a Catholic and former liturgy committee devotee, I craved a ritual, an altar and a priest (and music and candles and prayers!) to make my dedication as a parent in our family seem perfect.

Later that first summer, I traveled to my hometown in North Carolina to have her baptized in the presence of those we love there at home.

I have this picture in my head, a memory to remember forever, of standing at the baptismal font at the church, surrounded by dozens of friends and family members, and looking out to see the circle of beaming faces filled with happiness and welcome for this new member of our circle. This baptism—this physical sign of a spiritual commitment—was our sacrament of community. We were declared a family once again, this time a part of the family of God, through that baptism.

As my daughter has grown and asked questions about her beginnings, I’ve told her that she was just waiting in China for me until I could finally get there to get her.

Some people have asked me why I didn’t adopt a child here in “our” country. I always say, “I think that every child in the world deserves a family, not just the ones in America.”

Strangers who don’t know any better have said to me, “Lucky girl!” I always respond, “We’re both lucky.”

And thoughtless strangers have stated, right in front of my listening child, “You rescued her—how wonderful of you.”

Rescue is a funny word when you’re talking about creating a family. She’s not a puppy. I’m not a savior. Rescue implies that I freed her from danger or evil (not true). People might say that I “saved” her, but I didn’t, not from danger or harm or sin. No, that’s not it.

Honestly, if you have to use a verb, I’d use “delivered.” And doesn’t that seem like the perfect word? Deliver means to set free. I delivered her from the life she would have had in the country where she was born—maybe not the best of lives, without a family, love or the excitement of a future with limitless possibilities—all of which I could gladly provide. I delivered her to be a part of my family, which I happen to think is pretty wonderful.

Truth is, she delivered me as well. I have always said that my life began again that day. I was set free from my former life and given a marvelous opportunity to parent a marvelous child. She has brought unimaginable love to me and my extended family.

After I adopted Amy, every day was like Christmas, Easter and my birthday all rolled up together. I still think that, even on those cold mornings when I am getting a cranky 6-year-old out of bed for school. This is still unending fun.

In the Chinese adoption community, we like to talk about an ancient Chinese belief that you are connected to the people you are supposed to be with in this life by a “red thread.” You can’t break that thread, no matter how much you try. If you are supposed to be together, you will be.

In my own life, of course, I think of that red thread as the hand of God, who brought Amy and me together to be a forever family.

At least once every day, I look at the sweet face of my child—when she is confidently telling me something amazing, talking without pausing for breath, running right at me with her arms outstretched or during any one of those moments in life we parents treasure—and I send a silent prayer of thanks to God for the miracle of being her Mom and the gift her birthparents gave me.

Sometimes I think about the years of waiting, the prayers, the wrong turns, the coincidences and the life experiences I had before I stood in China and received the best baby in the world (well, to me, anyway) in my arms. The Holy Spirit has been and continues to be a powerful presence in my life. I would not have changed one second, one decision, one pathway of my life’s journey in any way if that change meant that I did not become the mother of Amy.

“What God has joined…”