My Story, Part I

My birthday was a day that almost didn’t happen.

I have imagined the scenario over and over again in my mind.  A young woman is picked up for a date and night on the town.  Her boyfriend is charming, persuasive.  The night was going well, and then things took a turn for the worse.  They called it date rape.  Either way-nine months later-here I was.  Born to a woman who didn’t want me-didn’t even want to know if I was a girl or boy.  Unloved, unwanted, and yet saved from the unthinkable-yet totally socialy acceptable-an abortion. 

I always knew I was adopted. I remember my parents sitting me down and explaining it to me.  I remember crying myself to sleep thinking you aren’t my real mom and dad.  I remember the rejection I felt, the hurt. They loved me so much and wanted to help me deal with this flood of emotions, but they didn’t know how it felt.  They couldn’t.  They knew where they came from. I didn’t. This internal struggle continued for years. 

Little did I know that I only knew part of the story…

I was a senior in high school when I found out my birth mother was raped.  I remember staring out my mother’s car window thinking- “you’re a product of evil-you were never meant to be.” My how the enemy has a way with words.  I lived with those nagging feelings, those hating thoughts for years.  Feeling like I was somehow predestined for something horrible because that’s how my life began.  I was pathetic-or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.  I’d have good days, weeks, months… but it always came creeping back. Thinking back on that day, I can vividly remember what my mom so casually stated and how Satan was turning Truth into lies. I wasn’t telling myself that I wasn’t meant to be, the enemy was telling me YOU weren’t meant to be; anything to bring me down and question my life’s purpose...  But that's not the end of my story...


Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.