This article is part of After Church Diaries, a lifestyle column by Danielle Wallace featuring personal essays, cultural commentary, and conversations on faith, grief, style, creativity, work, and life as a Christian woman.
My biological mother had five daughters. She placed one of them for adoption, and hi, I’m the one.
I’m daughter number four. Three girls came before me, and one came after. So technically, I’m the second youngest, although I grew up in a completely different household.
Now, I know what you’re probably wondering, “Danielle, why were you the only one?”
Well, I don’t know the complete story behind my biological mother’s decision. There are details I’ve learned and others I still know very little about. And considering I’ve spent so many years in journalism, you can imagine how interesting it is to have unanswered questions about my own life.
I’m used to asking questions, following leads, and putting information together. My adoption story, however, doesn’t come with a neat folder of interviews and supporting documents.
I wasn’t there to understand what my biological mother was experiencing. I don’t know what conversations took place or what influenced her decision, so I’d rather acknowledge the gaps than come up with explanations of my own.
A Little Detective Work, Courtesy of Google and Facebook
In 2015, I learned my biological mother’s name from my original birth certificate. And naturally, I did what any curious person with internet access would do. I Googled her.
During my search, I came across names of people who appeared to be related to her, including one of my biological sisters, who was about a year older than me. So, I took her name over to Facebook, found her profile, and eventually worked up the courage to send her a message.
And listen, looking somebody up on Facebook is one thing. Actually introducing yourself as their biological sister? Well, that’s a whole different situation.
We ended up speaking on the phone, and I also spoke with my biological mother a I think a handful of times around that period.
We’ve never met in person, though.
A few years ago, I also reached out to my biological father through Facebook to introduce myself. And while I’ve made contact with members of my biological family over the years, I haven’t met any of them face-to-face.
It’s interesting to think about how much of this part of my story began with a birth certificate, a Google search, and enough courage to press send on a Facebook message.
The home I grew up in
I was adopted at birth by my mom and dad, who also opened their home to foster children. They fostered for years, continuing until around my senior year of high school. Having other children come into our household at different times was a familiar part of growing up.
They fostered 6 children during my childhood and I think one before I came into their lives.
Interestingly enough, despite adoption and foster care being part of our family life, my own adoption wasn’t something we regularly discussed. I don’t remember when I first learned I was adopted. I think it was briefly mentioned when I was in middle school.
When I think about my childhood, though, my mind goes to the everyday experiences I shared with my parents.
My dad used to make breakfast on Saturday mornings, and goodness, I’d love to sit down for another one of those breakfasts. My mom loved talking about her plants. I miss hearing her talk about them, and I miss going to church with her on Sundays.
Both of my parents have passed away, and now that I’m 39, I think about how much has happened in my life since losing them. There are so many things I’d love to tell them about my work, the experiences I’ve had, and the woman I’ve become.
I’d love to know what they’d think about the things I’m doing now or have an ordinary conversation about whatever happened during the day.
It’s funny how the routines you barely think twice about growing up become the memories you hold closest. Back then, Saturday breakfast was Saturday breakfast. Going to church with my mom was part of our Sunday routine. Today, I’d give quite a bit to experience either one again.
Looking at my adoption through the lens of faith
As a Christian, one passage that comes to mind when I reflect on my adoption is Psalm 139. In verse 13, David writes about God forming him in his mother’s womb. Later in the passage, he reflects on how God knew the days of his life before they unfolded.
I’ve read Psalm 139 before, but when I consider what it says in connection with my own beginnings, I appreciate it in a deeply personal way.
Before I knew anything about my biological mother, my four sisters, or the family I would grow up with, I believe God already knew me.
The journalist in me would absolutely appreciate having access to every detail surrounding my adoption. A timeline, a few interviews, perhaps some documentation. I’m not asking for much here!
But seriously, I find comfort in believing that even the unanswered questions in my life have never been unanswered questions to God.
I believe He had a beautiful plan for my life when He placed me with my mom and dad. Looking back on the years I had with them, I’m grateful for the opportunity to have been their daughter.
Now, does being a Christian mean I understand every decision or circumstance surrounding my birth? Absolutely not.
Psalm 139 doesn’t explain why my biological mother placed me for adoption while my sisters remained with their biological family. It doesn’t give me access to her thoughts or the circumstances of her life during that time.
What it reminds me of is God’s knowledge of me. Long before I was old enough to understand my beginning story, I believe my life was already known to Him. My faith gives me peace without requiring me to have every answer.
A Few Things I Know for Sure
I’ve spent years telling other people’s stories. During my years in television news, I interviewed people about their experiences, asked follow-up questions, and worked to make complicated stories understandable to viewers.
Now, as an independent journalist, I still approach my work with curiosity. I want to understand what happened, why it happened, and which details help explain the bigger picture.
Writing about my own adoption is a different experience because I’m accustomed to being the person asking the questions. In this situation, I’m also the person living with some of the unanswered ones.
And unfortunately, interviewing myself won’t produce information I haven’t learned yet. Believe me, that would make the reporting process a whole lot easier.
Still, I think there’s value in sharing what I do know about my experience. I was adopted at birth, raised by two parents I loved, and grew up in a home where foster children were also part of our lives. My Christian faith continues to influence how I view my beginnings, particularly my belief that God knew me before I was born.
I don’t know every detail of my biological mother’s circumstances, and I’m careful not to make assumptions about what she was thinking or feeling when she made that decision. Her experience is part of this story, too, and I want to respect it.
But my story is still mine to tell, even with a few missing pieces.
I don’t have a dramatic revelation or a perfectly packaged lesson to share. What I have is my faith, memories of the parents who raised me, and a personal history I’m continuing to understand.
One thing I’ll always be grateful for is that my mom and dad chose to adopt me and welcome me into their Christian home. They raised me with faith, love, and values that have stayed with me well into adulthood. So much of who I today come from what they poured into me, from my relationship with God to the lessons they taught me through the way they lived.
I wish they were still here so I could tell them how much I appreciate everything they did for me. I may have been adopted at birth, but I had the blessing of being raised by two parents who left a lasting mark on my life.
To my fellow adoptees, particularly Christian women who were adopted, I’m curious. How has your faith influenced the way you understand your adoption story? Has your perspective changed as you’ve gotten older?
I’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments.
