No one has yet put into words the complexity of being adopted.
Betty Jean Lifton
I’m joining in with a group of writers for Five Minute Friday where we’re given a prompt (this week it’s IF) and write for five minutes about it.
It’s a question I’ve considered for most of my life: What if I wasn’t adopted?
What if my birth mom had kept me?
What if I was the natural child of my adoptive parents?
Who would I be without the muck of adoption to cloud my self-esteem?
Lately, I’ve been considering another possibility: What if a member of my birth mom’s family had adopted me?
It’s not inconceivable; my birth mom’s sister adopted her first born son. What if one of her siblings had chosen to adopt me too? What if I was never separated from my family of origin, and grew up with the roots of my heritage intact?
Who would I be?
The still, small voice of my Creator reminds me that I am not Plan B. I’m not a consolation prize. The days of my life have already been numbered. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. God, my Father, knew me and chose me long ago.
So too, He understands my grief and my confusion.
And in the midst of the turmoil of questions without answers comes peace.
Soli Deo gloria.