By Mary Beth Anderson
“in you the fatherless find compassion.”
Most people don’t remember the day they were born, but I do. It was a beautiful sunny day in June of 1957. I was 2 ½. My brother, who was 3 ½, and I were going to meet our new parents, Don and Norma Schulke. I recently talked to a woman who was a teenager at that time and she said she remembered how excited my parents were when they were preparing for our arrival. She said that it was like they had won the lottery.
I don’t remember any time before that but the adoption agency filled in a few gaps for me. My birth mother had left my brother and me with friends so that she could explore a risky business venture. They said she had planned on coming back for us but never did. When the county found out about this they put us in foster care, where we stayed until we were adopted.
Our parents had always told us that we were adopted. They said it was like going into a candy store and some people just have to take what the man behind the counter gives them. But my parents got to go in and pick the ones they wanted. I felt bad for all the kids who weren’t “chosen” by their parents.
Our life with our new parents was great, although not perfect. No families are. When I was 10, my mom was diagnosed with M.S. That meant that I had to be responsible for much of the housework. And then as my parents aged, I continued to take care of them. I always thought that God had given me to them because he knew that they would need me.
Recently though, I have been doing an ancestry search—trying to find out my story. In so doing I found out that my birth mom, Lois Blomberg Brown Gildea, was adopted as well. And I learned that my birth father, Zane Orwin Brown, and his family members had a history of having children and abandoning them. And though through my DNA search I have found some amazing cousins, a half-brother, and at least two step sisters, I was still looking for my mom and dad. I did find out that my mom had died in 2009. But I would still like to find out more information about her. And I’m still hoping to find my dad. I’ve learned that he wasn’t a very nice man, and that some of his family members were awful and crazy. But still, I want to meet him and hear the story. It’s not that the story is going to change who I am, I just want to know.
I might not ever find him. I don’t know if they know the Lord. I pray that they do and that someday I will meet them in heaven and know the story. But even if they don’t, I know the one who has known me since I was formed in my mother’s womb and He knows the story. And I can hear it from Him.
The most important thing that I’ve learned on this journey is that, though I believe that God put me where he wanted me to be to help my adoptive parents, I now also see His protective and loving hand picking me out of a very dysfunctional family and putting me in a home where I was loved and treasured.
I’m thankful for my birth mom making the decision to put us up for adoption. My birth parents gave me “life.” My adopted parents gave me “a life.” And Jesus gave me eternal life.