Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight,
Jesus loves the little children of the world!
That would describe my family at its best.
I was born in a small, very poor town in Columbia, South America. Animals and dirt were the décor of my home. So, while playing in my crib, it’s not surprising that I became very ill. At that time an unknown family member dropped me off at a local hospital in order for me to receive care but that person never returned. After exhausting all efforts, the hospital was unsuccessful in finding any of my family and, at the age of 3, I was alone.
Through divine providence, during my stay at the hospital, there was a volunteer who took a liking to me. Mrs. Urebee was the wife of a lawyer for Braniff Airlines, which meant that she was wealthy and well-known in the area. After receiving permission from hospital authorities, Mrs. Urebee took a picture of me. At that time, her 17 year-old son was battling a brain tumor and she would take annual trips with him to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. On her next trip to the United States, she contacted an adoption agency, Children's Home Society of Minnesota, and attached my photo, along with details of my various medical conditions. At the same time, an adoption worker from Williamsport, PA, Lois Eckel, was working with a young couple in Central Pennsylvania and came across my profile. Mrs. Eckel immediately telephoned the couple who was searching for another little girl to adopt. When Mrs. Eckel called my parents they asked to see my picture and my profile right away and, once they agreed to move forward with the adoption, Mrs. Urebee paid all of the expenses for the orphanage at which I had been living to continue to care for me until the international adoption was complete.
After four months of paperwork and clearances, I was heading to the United States to meet my new family. At that time the flight attendants would keep all of the orphans hungry on the plane. This would ensure that we would have a reason to go to our adoptive parents when we met them so they could feed us. When I met them, my adoptive parents had three biological children and an adopted daughter from Korea. My Korean sister quickly became my playmate and my friend. Coming to the states was not a fairytale ending for me. In addition to my biggest obstacle, the language barrier (I was a native Spanish-speaker), adjusting to climate changes and the health issues I brought with me – prolasped bowel, scabies, along with a variety of parasitic diseases – took their toll on all of us.
As the year went by, however, and I was settling into my new surroundings, the question of my identity had a stronger and stronger pull. I arrived in America at the tender age of 3 ½ with a very limited medical history and even more limited identity. I eventually learned that my age was probably just a guess and that someone else had simply assigned me a birthday. The mystery of my true self was made even more difficult because my sister knew far more about her pre-adoptive years than I knew about mine.
During the teenage years, everyone struggles with their identity to some extent. My identity issues, though, were only magnified because of the lack of information I had about my birth family. Do not get me wrong, my family loved and provided for me in wonderful ways. Still, the question of who I really was lingered in my thoughts daily…Where did I come from? Who are my blood relatives? Do I look more like my mom or my dad? Do I have any siblings? The list of questions went on and on as if my brain were stuck on an out-of-control merry-go-round. One of the biggest hurdles during this time was that my adoptive family simply could not understand my need for identity. While we all never doubted our love for one another, sometimes it led to frustrations for all of us.
I graduated from high school, went off to college to major in elementary education and it was there that I met my husband. We connected instantly and, one year later, we were married. Yet, I still struggled with my identity issues, particularly when my children were born. I had my three sons in a four year period and, as I was embracing motherhood, flashbacks of my adoption kept flooding my mind after each birth. Needless to say, I struggled emotionally and mentally and soon realized it was time to deal head-on with my adoption. I sought Christian counseling and my counselor walked with me through my fears, questions and struggles. Eventually, through the counseling process, I came to resolution about myself. I learned that my identity did not lie in knowing where I came from or how I looked outwardly but rather in my Creator, Jesus Christ! My continual questioning of the love and trust in relationships that I encountered was blinding me to what my Lord had done for me.
Today, I understand that the path from where I came to where I am now was God’s design. When I look at my children, who are now 11, 10 and 6, I am so filled with love. It is humbling to know that my love for my children and my husband is microscopic compared to the love of my Heavenly Father for me. It is greater than I can ever fathom. The pain of my birth family’s decision to leave me at the hospital so that I could have a better life with quality medical care was completely selfless. They gave me a second chance at life by allowing another family to raise me. It’s a path that could only be orchestrated by my Heavenly Father, who loves me unconditionally.
Jackie is the devoted wife of Paul and loving, full-time mother to her three beautiful sons. She spends her days caring for her family, embracing the unknown and awaiting the wonder of what God might bring her.
Jackie, you are one of the
Jackie, you are one of the coolest people I know. You are so encouraging. You live and love life, undaunted by what comes your way. Your love for God is obvious and beautiful. Thanks for sharing your story. I am always amazed at the power of simply the truth.
Michel