soul. The truth is that I don’t have satisfactory answers nor can
I spin out a story to my daughters that denies the very real
human suffering that is an integral part of each and every
adoption story. It is a tale that includes individual blindness,
collective greed, and the entanglement of two very different
cultures.
One place that I often turn to for perspective is the
voices of adult adoptees. Liz Latty shares these powerful
words: “. . . I began to dream in earnest about what it would
be like for adoptees to exist in a world that understands the
paradoxical experiences that we live. A world that does not
insist on reducing us to cheerful assumptions and sentimental
media representations. A world that accepts adoption not as an
unquestionable, benevolent good, not as a fairy tale ending, but
as an event that forever changes and complicates the lives of
everyone involved. That when the gavel crashes into the
sounding block, literally or symbolically, it is both a fracturing
and a coming together, a severing and a multiplication, a
derailment and a hope for the uncertain path ahead.”9
Latty’s words point toward the truth that grace and
redemption are most often woven throughout adoption. But
the cost of true redemption is scorned when the foundational
pain and loss of each and every adoptee and birth parent are
ignored. Adoption narratives that tell only the joyful side of the
story somehow cheapen the grace intermingled in such
journeys. Painful beginnings are the foundation that must be
given honor as we seek to make meaning of such stories. As
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