Adoption

I always have been and always will be a person who believes that everything happens for a reason.  

I've had a story on my heart lately, though it is one that I very rarely tell.  In fact,  it's one that I hardly ever think about.  Not because I'm ashamed, or confused, or hurt; but because out of the many things that have happened throughout my life, this is something that I am completely and utterly at peace about.  

This is the story of my beginning; the story of God's will for my life. 

 This is my testimony.          

On December 12, 1983, I made what I assume was a quick and unexpected entrance into the world.  As the story goes, I was almost born in the back of a taxi cab, but ended up making it into the actual emergency room in Loveland, Colorado for delivery.  After that, the details of my first 11 months of life become a little sketchy.  I was born to a single mother, whom I can only imagine had very little.  At the time, there was a program for single mothers that offered a one-way ticket to any town that the mother wanted to go.  My birth mother had heard of some good programs in Atlanta, Georgia, so she decided that we would go there.  While in Georgia, we moved around a lot and ended up being taken in by a church in Gainesville.  The church provided housing for us, but it wasn't long before they began to notice that I had become one very sick little girl.  Malnourished, anemic, and probably more than a little fussy, I was taken into the custody of Family and Children's Services.      

While God was setting the stage and opening doors in my life, He was also working in the lives of my parents.  My mom, who was born and raised in Oregon, met and married my dad when he was stationed at the air force base in her hometown.  After having my brother, Tim, Dad was relocated to Florida.  This is where my sister, Nichele, was born.  When my dad was discharged from the Air Force, they moved around a bit, before deciding that they wanted to head back to my dad's home state of Georgia.  To pick a town, my parents laid out a map of Georgia and let their new home come down to fate, by deciding to move to the first place they put a finger on.  Of course, this place was Gainesville, Georgia.

Sometime after moving to Gainesville, my mom decided to pursue a dream of hers, which was to become a foster parent.  The day after she and my dad completed their foster parent registration, they got a phone call.  The lady at the agency said that they had an eleven month old girl who was very sick and needed to be taken in.  My mom, who is kind and loving and all things good, jumped at the opportunity.  

I will never forget the story of the first night my parents brought me home.  The whole family was excited to have a baby girl in the house, and my brother and sister had waited up to meet me when I got home.  Mom said that when we drove up to the house, Tim and Nichele had their faces pressed to the window to catch their first glimpse of the child who would later become their little sister.    

That night was the beginning of my life; the life that God intended for me to live all along.  

When my parents first brought me home, they were told that I may be with them for only a day or two.  However, it wasn't long before they were informed that this could be more of a long term situation.  It was then that my parents began the adoption process, to officially make me apart of the family, though I already was from the moment we met.  So, at the age of three, my parents put me in a cute little white dress, and we all piled in the car and headed down to the court house to complete the final paper work.  My original name was Catherine Elizabeth, but once adopted, my parents decided to change it to Catherine Lee, so that I could have a piece of my new family history.  Lee is the middle name of both my granddad and dad.  The rest, as they say, is happy history.  I have two parents who have given me the love, skill, and courage to be successful in life; I have a brother who taught me to laugh and is probably somewhat responsible for my quirky sense of humor; and I have a sister who was like another mom to me as I was growing up, and now that we're older, she's my best friend.  

For me, adoption has never seemed like a big deal.  I've known that I was adopted for so long, that I don't ever remember not knowing.  Just from my experience, I think this is the healthiest way to go about it.  For my family, adoption was never a hush-hush or taboo subject.  It was the ultimate story of love, and more than anything, God's will.  

Though I am incredibly grateful that my birth mother held on long enough to get me to my parents, I've never had any desire to meet her or learn more about my past.  I realize that I was not very well taken care of, but I've learned from experience that it's very easy to judge from the outside looking in.  I don't know all of the trials that she faced while trying to raise me, but I know that there must have been a lot of them.  I also know that for the most part, she did it alone.  Overwhelmed with raising a child or not, I can't imagine having to give up my 11 month old.  Wherever she is, I do hope that she knows she made the right decision.  I have a lot of respect for her, because she gave me a second chance.  I can't help but think that she could have given up on me long before I was even born, but she didn't.  She carried me, gave birth to me, and eventually, got me to where I belonged all along.   In my heart, I know that God was guiding her through this whole process, and I hope that she knows it was worth it.  

Thirty years later, adoption is still a topic that rarely comes up.  The only time I think about it is when I have to give information about my family's history at the doctor.  Last year when Rowan was rushed to Egleston, doctors quickly asked me all sorts of questions about my family's medical history.  I got about half way though the check list (giving my parent's history, of course) before I had to say, "Wait!  I'm sorry--I'm adopted!  I don't know my family history."  Just tonight I was talking to my grandma Simone in Oregon, and we were discussing the boys and their different personalities.  Grandma said that Rowan gets his spunk from her, and Jack gets his seriousness from Grandpa Don.  It didn't cross either of our minds that my grandparents and the boys are not actually blood-related.  The fact is, sometimes there are things much more important than blood.  All that ever really matters is the love.  Jody and I have discussed adoption as possibly being in our future one day.  From very young, I've always had it on my heart, and it's something that if given the opportunity, I'd love to pursue.  We think that Jack and Rowan would be great big brothers, but we'll just have to wait and see what things God has in store for us.  

So, that is my story, and my hope is that by telling it, I've helped someone in some way.  Understanding my adoption has always helped me to see the true power of God's love.  At the bottom, I have attached a link to a short video clip that one of my friends once posted.  This is the story one of couple's adoption of their son.  It's simply beautiful, and if you're anything like me, you'll cry big, fat ugly tears as you watch it.  Please do, because it is well worth your time.  God's plan for us is bigger than we can ever imagine.  Where we may find fault and hardship in our lives, God finds opportunity, and ultimately, our true purpose.  

Adoption Story

   

Though you know the love that I hold for you, I don't know if I've ever officially said Thank You.  I love you Mom, Dad, Tim, and Nichele, and I'm so thankful for my family.