I am lucky enough to know one of Julius’ sons.

Julius himself is sort of a legend. He was the oldest of a large group of siblings that were raised in a government run orphanage. Somehow he made it through those years determined to keep his brothers and sisters together.

In spite of the fact that institutions separated siblings in order to house the children by age groups — regardless of the fact that they had different bed times and day time routines — despite residing in separate cottages that were far apart on a large and lonely campus, Julius never let this little cluster of children forget that they were a family.

They all grew up. Julius became a well known, all-American type softball umpire – the kind that created stories for the players to tell for years. And there are now children and grandchildren. When Julius died, he was a great grandfather. Even though he is gone, he left a large, sometimes boisterous extended family who go to church, have important careers, raised their own children, and enjoy big reunions with an annual golf tournament.

The son I know became a mental health professional and a child welfare supervisor. He is a father and grandfather through birth and through foster care adoption.

We enjoy a healthier community because a boy in an orphanage … a mere boy … knew the power of family.

Marcia’s birth parents loved each other and loved her as well. But cultural circumstances were stacked against them. Perhaps in today’s society they’d be able to get married and raise their little girl as a family. But thirty-three years ago that wasn’t an option for them.

They made adoption plans, and they let their precious baby go.

Every year since then during the December holidays I get out a nativity scene that they gave to me. I remember them and think of Marcia. When they gave me this gift, I appreciated it. But it took some time for me to fully grasp that a nativity scene is the perfect symbol. There are all of the figures: a mother and father welcoming a baby under impossible circumstances.

Today I boxed up the nativity scene, and I’m mailing it to Marcia. I think it belongs to her. When she uses it, she’ll remember that she has always been loved.

This week the office intercom announced another adoption by a military family. I can’t tell their story yet. But it reminded me of Ted and Mike.

Ted and I met when I visited a military base in Germany. He began his adoption journey by taking training when he was stationed in Alabama. His home study was completed while he was living in Germany. And a couple of years later he was assigned to the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. He was ready, so he called the county department of social services. And soon Mike was in his life.

Ted wrote about their journey for publications in one of our Heartlines newsletters:

“We met in June and he moved in on August 16, a little more than a week before his 9th birthday. . . Was it love at first sight – not hardly. Mike was a bit afraid of me and certainly didn’t trust me to follow through on what had been promised to him. Why should he? No one had before. He certainly went through a process of doubt, reluctance, embarrassment, anger and resignation before he finally realized that I just might be the ‘real thing.’

For me, I figured since I was an adult who had wanted children for a long time that this kid was going to finally (and immediately) enter my heart. He didn’t…

I’ll bet it wasn’t until Christmastime, fully six months after we met, that I can truly say I started loving him…

[Now] Mike and I have a loving relationship that is at least as tight as a birth relationship. I have been Dad from day one….now we both know what ‘dad’ means.”

Danielle Bush was a 16 year old in foster care when she wrote these words and shared them with members of Congress:

Our Cry
(Foster children of Today’s World)

We are lost, surrounded on all sides by pure
darkness
We are alone, with no one to follow
We look up to the sky and we call on our creator
We ask him to guide us to safety
We hear no response so we continue to stand
there in the darkness
We put our hands together and close our eyes
We try to think but our minds show us nothing
but the darkness our eyes see
We hear a voice in the distance but we can’t
understand what it is saying
We try to follow the voice
One by one we are swallowed into the blackness
that surrounds us
The voice continues to speak from a distance
There are two children left, they are trying to
find the voice
They cry out for help but the response is still
unclear
They continue to walk until one of the two
children is swallowed
The last child screams into the blackness

Did you even try to find us or did you just think we
would find you? Do you not understand that as we
tried to find you the blackness has swallowed us up
one by one? Did your heart not tell you to come
farther to find us? Did you not know that we were
blind and could not survive alone? When we needed
you the most you let us down. Now we have been
swallowed by this blackness and it will be
harder to reach us!

I believe that our actions form our reply to Danielle. In dedicating our hearts to the mission and our skills to the work of giving every vulnerable child a safe and loving family, we tell Danielle, “We heard your cry. We are listening. And we won’t give up for you.”

When you’re meeting someone face to face for the first time, you wonder how it will be. What will they notice? How should you dress? What do you say?

I listened while two adopted teenagers interviewed each other about what surprised them most when they first met their adoptive parents.

Ashley’s adoptive parents were in their late forties. She said she’d never thought she’d be adopted by people who were so old.

Then it was Mike’s turn to answer the question. He’d been adopted by a younger, single man. His big surprise? “I never expected to be adopted by someone who is bald!!”

Ahhh, teenagers.

I found this poem by Gerald G. Jampolsky, M.D., in a book titled A Grateful Heart.

As a child
    I was told and believed
        that there was a treasure
            buried beneath every rainbow.

I believed it so much that
    I have been unsuccessfully
        chasing rainbows
            most of my life.

I wonder why
    no one ever told me
        that the rainbow
    and the treasure
        were both
            within me.

Thanks to all of the therapists, lay counselors, teachers, aunts, uncles, and adoptive parents who help the children find the treasures within themselves.

M.J. Ryan, Editor, A Grateful Heart, Conari Press, Berkeley, CA, 1994.

Adoptive parents help their children make sense of the past. The tragedies that happened to them were not their fault. And their lives were not completely tragic. There were family members they loved and lost.

No one really leaves the past behind. It comes with us as we grow and create meaning from it. The children are good human beings. Who they are becoming includes everything past and present.

Well known author James Michener said, “I was born to a woman I never knew and raised by another…I do not know my background, my lineage, my biological or cultural heritage. But when I meet someone new, I treat them with respect. For after all, they could be my people.”

Personal Glimpses, Reader’s Digest, August, 1989