My First Chapter

July 12, 2018

Being adopted has always been a part of my story.  It does not define me.  It is a part of my story.

Through the years, I’ve always thought, if I wrote an autobiography that the first sentence would be “I was born to a woman I do not know.”  It’s not a sad or emotional sentence, it’s just truth.  All my life I’ve known a few things about my first few days of life, before my parents adopted me.  This is what I knew.

My birth mom was divorced.  She had two little boys. She was pregnant, possibly by her boss.  She went to the First Christian Church in Poplar Bluff, Missouri and asked the pastor for help finding an adoptive family for her baby.  The pastor was C.E.A. McKim.  He agreed to help her.  His wife, Mary, even took my birth mom to the hospital when she went into labor.  While she was pregnant, my birth mom would go to the church and bring her two young sons with her and sit in the back quietly.

What my birth mom didn’t know, was that Dr. McKim had arranged my adoption with his oldest daughter, Marybelle, and her husband, Leslie.  So…C.E.A. and Mary became my grandparents.  My grandparents were one of the greatest blessings of my life! My grandpa always said that I looked just like my birth mom.  And if I ever chose to search for her, he didn’t think I would be disappointed.

Searching for my birth mom wasn’t really something I thought about much.  I was curious what she looked like and I was curious about the brothers.  But Marybelle and Leslie were my parents and my brother Kim was my brother.  I wasn’t looking for a different family.  I was mostly curious.  My parents always told me that they would support me in any decision I made concerning finding out more about my birth family.  But I knew in my heart, that it would hurt my mom.  And I wouldn’t intentionally choose to hurt her ever!!

Every time I watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics I look at the parade of nations and wonder what my heritage is.  Joe and I watch the Nordic countries and European countries and try to see which people I look the most like.  It was always kind of a funny thing we did, but there was no deep burning desire for me.

Last fall, I found out that Missouri was opening their birth records for adoptive children on January 1st.  So, I decided to request my original birth certificate.  And I asked for a DNA kit for Christmas, thinking it would be fun to find out my heritage.  I honestly didn’t know much of anything about how the DNA kits worked and what all you might find out (not a real detail person).  So, I sent off my spit…kind of gross when you say it outloud!

In January I got my results.  Nothing earth shattering!  Mostly England and Wales heritage, with a few other things mixed in.  I had to break it to Harrison that he is officially a total white boy.  But…come to find out they match you with other blood relatives who have done DNA samples too.  Who knew?  (Apparently everyone but me.)  I had a couple of “first cousin” matches.  I contacted one, Angela,and neither of us could really figure out how we could be related biologically through my birth mom.  (I wasn’t even considering birth dad…more on that later.)

Over the course of a few weeks, I looked at other relative matches and found some family trees that got me looking.  My friends Kelly and Cynthe stayed up late one night and figured out who my birth mom was!  We knew her maiden name, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out her married name and was kind of at a standstill. To make a LONG story shorter, eventually, I figured out who she and her sons were.  (One brother had passed away already.)  I was then able to do some further research and find addresses and phone numbers.  I don’t want to reveal our super sleuthing details…but between me, Cynthe and Kelly, we had figured it all out.

So…I wrote a letter.  A long letter.  To my birth mom, Jean Anne (JA).  I carefully chose a bunch of photos.  And on May 8th JA signed for a package with that letter and photos enclosed.  And I waited.  Nothing.  No call.  No letter.  Throughout this whole process I had been before the throne of Jesus praying daily!  Truly seeking discernment and choosing to be obedient of whatever God asked of me.

I felt God asking me to write a letter to my half-brother Kirk and his wife Sharon.  So, I took a deep breath, wrote a letter and enclosed a copy of the letter I wrote the JA.  I mailed it.  And I waited.  I felt pretty sure it would be delivered May 22.  On the morning of May 23, at 6:30 a.m., my phone rang while I was having my quiet time.  I didn’t recognize the number.  Then I realized it was from Poplar Bluff and I dialed it back.  Sharon answered by saying “welcome to the family!”  I was just blown away!  She was kind and generous and welcoming.  We had a nice conversation.  I told her that I was planning a trip to Poplar Bluff that weekend with Cynthe and Kelly just to see what happens.  She was honest and said Kirk would need to process everything (which I can only imagine how hard that was).  I went to work that morning just excited and hopeful, continuing to ask God what was next.

Then I came home from school.  Opened the mail.  There was a package from JA.  I was thinking “oh my goodness, this day is just crazy, now a letter from Jean Anne.”  Then I opened it.  It was all the photos I had sent her.  Returned.  No note.  No letter.

As quickly as I opened that package, God reminded me…”this is not about you, it is about Me.  Show her the love of Jesus, even when it’s hard on you.  And it will be hard on you.”  I sat down with my Bible and my journal and I wrote “My heritage is in You, Lord!  She does NOT own my heart, You do!  This is Your story, not mine!  Be glorified through me, Lord.”

Two days later, I got in my car and headed to meet Cynthe and Kelly in Springfield.  We had dinner, a glass of wine and a long conversation about what we might find in Poplar Bluff the next day.  And then on May 25, we drove to Poplar Bluff.  We drove straight to Jean Anne’s house (or so we thought) and sat outside gaining our strength.  We couldn’t figure out whose car was in her driveway, because she doesn’t drive anymore.  So, we sat watching and watching.  Then this little lady walked across the street to the mailbox and I said “I think that’s her!  But how did she get out of this house we have all been watching?”  Then she walked back into the house next door. We were in front of the wrong house!  BAHAHAHAHA!!!  We are really good at this!

So, my friend Cynthe went to the door.   When JA answered, Cynthe said “my name is Cynthe and I’ve driven 10 hours with one of my best friends who just wants to meet you and thank you for choosing adoption.  Do you think you would be willing to do that?”  JA said she wasn’t sure.  But, Cynthe showed her great kindness and eventually she agreed to let us in.  And after 56 years, I walked into my birth mom’s house and met her.