It says, “I have been forced to restore what I did not steal.”
I came across this verse in church on Sunday, and it speaks to my search. I did not steal my history from myself. It was stolen, sealed, locked away, only to be seen by social workers–even 24ish year old social workers’ eyes were privy.
I came to a place (triggered/inspired by adopting our own little girl from Haiti) where I wanted to restore what had been stolen–knowledge of my complete identity.
I know who I am in my family–my adoptive family. I don’t have to research and dig to define myself within that family. And, my ancestry is only a few questions away in that family. I can just ask my aunts and uncles questions about whatever I want. We talk. I love them.
But my birth family is a completely different matter . . . if I want to restore what has been taken/hidden from me, I must fight tooth and nail as most of them still choose to deny me. I am thankful for the internet, and for the sweet sweet birthfamily members who have opened their hearts to me and consider me family. We can talk, and we do a little. I love them.