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My Journey to Repentance doesn’t start for a while. So you can understand my journey better, I felt that I needed to start at age five. It was my adoption that started the whole problem. Yes! I said, problem. Don’t get me wrong; my adoption was a great blessing straight from God. I have seen it that way all of my life. What a great word; adoption. I will tell you more about that word later. You will see as you read my book that a great blessing can also be a curse. My journey doesn’t start here, but it most certainly has its roots here. Being adopted gave me a new life with a family who loved me and did it with the Love of God. How it became my curse will become more evident when the journey really starts.
This is the story of my adoption and why I needed to be adopted. Let’s just say that I had a bit of a rough start in life. My parents were alcoholics; at least that is what I am told. According to mythology and the early tablet writings of the Greeks during their….. come on; you’re not quite that important! No; actually The Department of Human Services of Oklahoma (we will get to know them very well in this book) told my parents that my biological parents; those parents who thought it was a good idea to bring me into this world but not to take care of me, were alcoholics and that myself along with my five brothers and sisters were taken away from them three times during the first year of my life.
My adoptive parents were told I was extremely malnourished, failure to thrive, and required surgery to repair what they called a disability with one of my legs or a foot. They said I was born crippled. We are not sure what that problem was. They were only told “he walks fine now”. I never went to court to open my medical records, so I have never known what that disability was. I remain a mystery to everyone; especially DHS (Department of Human Services).
I am told I spent most of the first year of my life in an orphanage in or near my home town. All orphanages were closed and turned into state schools to house unwanted, deprived, neglected, or abused children the following year. I was then placed into foster care. I had good foster parents. My foster dad was a Southern Baptist preacher. I don’t have a wealth of memories of this period, but I do have a few. I know that I remember an older foster brother who was very nice to me; especially when I wet the bed. He would let me crawl in bed with him because he knew I would be in trouble the next day. When I wet the bed, I was grounded to my bed for the day.
Times were different then. But I do have very fond memories of my foster brother. He went on to be the Director of The Baptist Children’s Home Division in the Oklahoma Southern Baptist Foundation. I don’t know what he is doing now. I never tried to contact them or my biological parents. I have no idea where my siblings are now either. I am told all of us were adopted out separately. That was a time as well when foster parents could not adopt their foster kids. That is not the case now. It was also a time when splitting up siblings was acceptable. Some things never change, though many at DHS would claim differently.
I really don’t have too many meaningful memories of that time. A well meaning Pastor of mine and my well meaning mother cooked up an idea once at a Baptist Church camp to surprise me with meeting my foster father while I was there at camp one summer. My former foster dad was then head of security at the camp and I was told when they introduced me to him that he had been watching me all week and was impressed. I don’t know how I should have reacted and sometimes I wish that I had reacted differently. I might have gotten to know them better and as I look back on things now, that might have been pretty cool thing.
This is how I reacted. I flipped out! I was very angry that no one had even thought to ask me if this is what I wanted and the thought that this man, who I did not know, had been watching me. I went off on them big time and stormed off very upset! I was thirteen years old and of course I knew everything by then! I could not believe how stupid adults became once their teenage years were over and they became adults. What happens to people when they get to become adults; why do they get so stupid?
Thirteen year olds are so smart; they know it all. I couldn’t understand what happened. Really; I don’t know why I reacted that way to this day. Later in my book, you will find out it is just a “Disease Called Teenager”. I don’t know if I just got embarrassed, whether the surprise of it just freaked me out, or if I was actually right; they should have considered my feelings. If they had asked me, I probably would have been more okay with it and said yes. But I do understand they had no idea that I would react as I did. They surprised me and I guess I kind of surprised them. So, I guess we are even! I never saw him again and never tried. Well back to my adoption.
I felt the need to share that with you here before I got started, as that event was and has been my only connection with my adoption. I was not like most who are adopted. I never felt the desire to find my birth family or my siblings. Although, if my siblings found me; that might be pretty cool with me. I have always felt this way: “Why would I search for alcoholic parents who did not love me enough to care for me or feed me”. Besides, God gave me good God fearing parents and I would not want for any other.
I do remember the day I was adopted very well. I will never forget it. It was terrifying, confusing, exciting, scary, wonderful, and surreal. That is a lot of emotions: too many for a five year boy. The night before I was adopted they (DHS) had some guy, who does transporting kids for DHS, pick me up at my foster home and told me we were going for a ride and it would be overnight. No one told me what was going on or why I was leaving my foster home. I didn’t know what foster home meant anyway, but I knew I felt safe there. They didn’t tell me either that I would not be coming back. I was not given a chance to say goodbye to the only family I had ever known.
I did know I did not feel safe with this stranger, but no one again asked me. He took me to a place they said was called Oklahoma City. I had never been there and never had heard of such a place. This stranger dropped me off at a woman’s house. She had a son my age. This stranger, my driver, told me she was a foster parent and that he would be back in the morning to pick me up; again. He didn’t say to pick me up to go where.
I tried not to show it, but I was scared beyond belief. And this kid of hers; he tormented me horribly. She made me take a bath with him. He put soap in my eyes and made me cry and told me they were going to do something horrible thing to me called “adoption”. He said “you will never see your parents again”. Well, that was alright with me, I had never seen them that I could ever remember anyway.
I was so happy to see that stranger the next morning. I told him what that kid did to me and what he told me about the horrible things they were going to do to me today. He told me not to worry. He told me that adoption was a wonderful thing and not to listen to that kid. He said it was a time when I would get to choose my new parents and that they had already chosen me. I don’t know how much I really understood of what he said, but I remember thinking that sounded really good to me. All of a sudden, I kind of liked this stranger. I felt safe with him.
I remember pulling up to a large building they later told me was the Muir building of Oklahoma bombing fame. You know, Timothy McVey, thousands dead, and the biggest tragedy in Oklahoma history. It was a state building and housed the State Department of Human Services Child Division of Oklahoma. Well, he took me up an elevator. Oh yea, I forgot to tell you that I am terrified of elevators. Even to this day. I will ride one, but I don’t like it. That stranger had to carry me to get me on it and my soon to be dad had to carry me anytime we ever went on one. I have no idea why I don’t like them. I just know it will fall to the bottom as soon as I get on it! I really liked this guy. He carried me on that evil elevator.
Anyway, he took me into a room and stayed with me until some lady came in and asked me if it would be alright to go with her. She told me there was a man and woman that wanted to meet me. I said “yes” and followed her into another room. I wonder to this day what would have happened if I had said “no”. We entered and I pranced in on my toes as I always did. My mother said when I was young that I walked only on my toes. I do remember doing this. I don’t know why and I don’t remember when I stopped. My mother said she thought it was cute and liked it very much.
She asked me to sit in her lap, so I did. I don’t remember thinking anything or feeling anything. My mother says we talked about adoption and did I think I might want to go home with them and be their son. I don’t remember this at all. Evidently I said yes; otherwise I would have had a different mother and I would be telling you quite a different story now wouldn’t I? I guess somebody else would be telling me the story; or… God! Stop! They tell me I ramble sometimes. I’ve heard some very famous writers have made very little money with their ramblings. I try hard not to do it too much. If I do, just let me know and I will stop!
Well, I did go home with them and I very vividly remember, what I was later told was, the hundred mile trip south to my new home. I sat in my mother’s lap the whole way home and I particularly remember thinking; I kind of like this! But I also remember being very scared. I had no idea where I was going or what kind of people these two were. She seemed nice. He didn’t say much, but he did carry me on the elevator which I greatly appreciated. He also bought me a hamburger and French fries on the way home. That was already two very good things in his favor. He also stopped and bought me a replica of their blue station wagon; I don’t remember what kind it was. I remember thinking: “This guy might be alright”!
Mostly, I just remember being very scared about where I was going and whether they would be good to me. I remember pulling into the driveway and seeing two old people walking towards us. My mother told me it was my grandparents. My memory fades at this point. I don’t really remember much after that. I always felt like that meant it was a good thing; that if I had been overly scared, uncomfortable, or it turned out badly; I would have remembered it and would be writing about it now; or later; or not at all; heck, who knows.
Here is what my mother tells me of the following years after my adoption. Besides having some odd quirks like eating one item on my plate completely before I would go on to the next one, there were things she and my dad had to deal with. I hoarded food for about the first year she said. My mother states I would place food into my pocket and hide it in my room. She said they never talked to me much about it, that they told me it was okay if I wanted to do that, and that there was plenty of food; not to worry. She said I eventually stopped doing it. I now hoard food again, but for a much different reason. I believe many of you know what I mean. I like to eat too much!
My mother also said for the first two years, I would call her often at night. The first year, she said, it would be as many as ten times a night. She said at the by the end of the first year, it lessened to only a couple of times a night. The second year, she told me I would call for her at least once and occasionally twice. By the third year I did not call her at all. She said that she would ask me why I would call her. My response was that I just wanted to see if she was still there and ask her if anyone was coming to take me somewhere else tomorrow. I guess it took a long time of being reassured that she was still there and that no one was coming for me ever again.
I don’t remember any of this! I guess I trust her. I should; shouldn’t I. Really; I do. She also says they tried to spank me one time and I went nuts on them, crying and screaming, and scared out of my mind. She says they decided never to spank me again after that. Maybe that is what is wrong with me now! It is all their fault! I knew DHS was wrong. See; it’s not my fault. I tried to tell them, but they would not listen to me either.
The first time I wrote a poem actually was when I was thirteen years old. After I started writing, I became interested in a framed poem that had always been in my parent’s bedroom entitled “Mom and Dad”. It had no author signature and I was interested in where it came from. I asked my mother about it and she told me this story. When I was thirteen, she said I wrote this poem and took it down to the printer to have them print it up for me. She then said I put it in a frame and gave it to them on Christmas. I had forgotten all about this until she told me this story. She told me that I had expressed to them my feelings then because they had adopted me at age five and I wanted to let them know how much I appreciated what they did for me. I guess I wanted to share the feelings I had about this momentous event in my life. It made me cry to remember these things that I had forgotten so long ago ago.
She also reminded me that I wrote in a journal a lot up until around this age. She said I told her that I stopped when everyone, especially my friends, told me only girls do that. My mother also showed me notes, homemade birthday cards, and special gifts I had given her while very young still. I was impressed by how good they were for a very young child. I then remember throwing the journal away soon after that poem because I was embarrassed and was afraid someone would read it, and find out what I was thinking. What I wouldn’t give to have that journal now!
I had many feelings of being adopted; being scared, unsure of my future, and not knowing what kind of people these two were that were giving me a home. I am fifty-five years old now. They have been my parents for all these years and this has become my life. I had not thought about these events and feelings for a very long time. It also showed some signs of possible talent even at that early age. I say “possible talent” because no one has bought even one book yet. One can only think what would have been if I had been open to God’s will for my life instead of the one I was determined to pursue. What could he have done through me? Here is that poem; placed here in honor of my Mom and Dad who God chose for me, who also chose me, and who I chose. Pretty cool word; this word “Adoption”!
Mom and Dad
I came into your life one day
Not knowing what I’d find.
But there I found a precious gift,
So loving and so kind.
You gave me life and gave me love,
Of your life I became a part.
My love for you dear Mom and Dad,
Grew strong within my heart.
I could search the world over,
And never could I find.
A Mom and Dad as good as you,
There for me all the time.
Your love, your care, and selflessness,
Is more than I deserve.
But that is why dear Mom and Dad,
My love for you is greater all the time.
Vasquez Savage
This was the problem with my being adopted that I mentioned very early on. My mother tells me that from the beginning after I was adopted, I began telling her that I was going to adopt kids as well. My parents were very honest with me in telling me about my adoption, my birth parents, and what it all meant. As I began to understand more what that word meant, I knew that was what I would do. There were a couple of problems with that though. I don’t think I’ll tell you what they are right now. My adoption was truly a gift and a blessing, but it was also a big problem; at least the part where “I decided” that this would be my dream in life. As I grew up, it became even more important with what I would go through and experience. I can’t tell you now. If I did, you would have no reason to read the book.
Webster’s Dictionary definition for “Adoption” says: to take a child of other parent’s as one’s own child; to take up and practice as one’s own. Wow, my first chance to ramble. I’ll try to keep it short. The gift of adoption is of biblical origin. In biblical times, masters of large and wealthy households would adopt the children of their slaves or workers so that they would have an heir to their land and wealth. Sound familiar! That is exactly what God does for us. Even though we don’t belong, nor deserve the inheritance to His kingdom; He offers it to us anyway. We are children from other parents; born into sin and unable to inherit His riches. We are children of Adam; born of sin. Because of His love for us, He sent His son to die for us and therefore give us the opportunity to become sons of God. Not the Son of God, but nevertheless sons of God and all the inheritance that goes along with it.
Why did He do that? It was love. It was His desire to have a relationship with us and I learned during my journey just how far reaching and everlasting that love is. It never ends. It doesn’t ever leave us. It doesn’t stop just because you have other plans or things you think are more important. Another biblical definition is; to practice as one’s own. He not only adopts us into His kingdom, but we likewise adopt His way of thinking; loving one another as He loved us. When He adopts us, we adopt His values; His priorities become ours; His wants become our wants; and we then start to become like Him; the image of Christ.
It is just as it was with my adoption. I became like my parents; too much like my dad I often think. I adopted their values. I adopted their way of thinking and believing in God. Their priorities became mine as they taught them to me. Though I often rebelled, their wants became what I wanted; to live my life seeking Christ. I started becoming just like them; good or bad. With God, all is good. When He adopts us who have nothing good in us, we start becoming like the good we see in Christ. It is a radical transformation. When I was adopted, a real radical transformation started in me. I began to adopt a new life as that new life adopted me. A truly awesome word “adoption”!
How do you like my first ramblings? No comments! Alright, then I will keep on going since I hear no objections. My poem does convey many feelings about my adoption I had at age thirteen. Over these many years, I have grown most comfortable with the thought of adoption and I have forgotten much about those days. Well, there it is. It is the first chapter of my book. Such talent will not be soon forgotten; for its goodness or its badness. Oh well! It is mine never the less; so, who cares! It is my story and I am sticking to it. My Story! All the bad chapters have already been written. I can’t edit them or re-write them. I have been forgiven; though. My story does not own me. I have the rights to it. I no longer have to live it, I can tell all who wish to hear it, and it does not determine my future. I don’t have to live it any longer. It doesn’t have to cast a shadow on my future. Forgiveness is the key. With Christ’s eternal Light shining on all the dark parts, with the trying of my heart, and the renewing of my mind; my past does not determine my future.
My Story
My story is a story of the forgiven
The bad chapters have already been written
They can’t be edited or re-written
They most certainly have been forgiven
We must accept the raw materials He gave
We must accept the choices we have made
They don’t determine where our future lays
They don’t determine where for eternity I stay
I own the rights to my own story
My story does not own the rights to me
I can tell my story to whoever I see
I no longer live it; I am what He wants me to be
I can’t delete all the pain of the past
I don’t have to repeat it; it’s hold doesn’t last
The pain back then doesn’t have to cast
A shadow on the future; His forgiveness is vast
I can’t cover the sins I have seen
Forgiveness was the key to toss them in the sea
To keep my grip on eternity
To stay true to what He has called me to be
Forgiveness was the remedy
Forgiveness was His gift to me
It brought me freedom and brought me peace
It put my story in the past of my unbelief
Try my mind Lord; try my heart Father
Do not gather my soul with the sinners
From my story, let no dark part linger
Don’t let my salt ever lose its flavor
Vasquez Savage
vasquezsavage.com>/a>
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