If you were to glance at my birth certificate, freshly issued this past May, you’d see that I was born on November 6, 1992, at exactly 6 p.m. You’d see my name, Annie. For most of my life, I hated that name. For years, I couldn’t escape the reminders from my birth mother that I was an “accident,” that she hadn’t wanted to keep me but couldn’t get rid of me. I’ve been told that a doctor or nurse gave me the name, but to this day, I still don’t know which stranger in that hospital room made that decision. I also hated the comparisons—Little Orphan Annie, Anne of Green Gables, all orphans, and then there was me.
It wasn’t until 7th grade, during a name art project, that I decided to look up what my name meant. My 12-year-old heart raced as I waited for the results. When the screen finally loaded, I saw the word that would stay with me forever: “grace.” It is by God’s grace that I am here today. Grace carried me from the very beginning—the stranger who chose my name, the protection that kept me alive through abuse, the intervention of authorities that placed me into foster care. Grace led my paths to cross with my adoptive parents. On that same birth certificate, you’d also see my mother’s age listed as 10 at the time of my birth. How? Adoption. It was grace—again—that stitched our lives together.
November is National Adoption Awareness Month, and I invite you to step into my life for a moment. Every adoption story is different, every experience valid, and every perspective worthy of being heard. Adoption touches people in myriad ways. For me, there are days when my emotions still feel too big to contain. Yet above it all, I am endlessly grateful that I never had to walk this path alone. Stories like mine remind us to listen, learn, and share. We are all shaped by choices we didn’t make.
I was brought into brokenness by broken people, caught in a cycle that seemed impossible to escape. The day I entered foster care, I was taken to a hospital for a full screening—marks documented, hours of questions, and exposure I wasn’t ready for. Trembling, terrified, I remember a nurse in a dark hallway telling me something that has echoed in my heart ever since: “Annie, the cycle ends with you.” She had chosen this work because her own husband was a survivor of abuse, and that moment planted a seed of hope in my young, fractured heart.
I spent five years in foster care, aging out in 2015, and along the way, I faced rejection repeatedly. The sting of feeling unadoptable, unwanted, and unworthy was constant. I tried convincing myself that I was meant to be self-sufficient, that I didn’t need a family—but the truth is, everything inside me ached to belong. I built walls to protect myself, hiding the deepest longing of my heart: to be loved, to be nurtured, to have a mom and a dad. Trauma had taught me that family might never be mine, but my heart never stopped hoping.
On May 31, 2019, at 26 years old, I was finally adopted. The system had tried to set me up to belong to no one, yet in a courthouse that once represented judgment and pain, I became a daughter. Vows were made in front of a judge, friends, and family, and every doubt I had about my worth shattered. Belonging became real. Forever became a promise. My story became ours, woven into a tapestry of love, faith, and adoption.
I had known my parents for seven years before the adoption. They had been present in every part of my life as worship pastors at my church, never wavering, even when I tried to push them away. One vivid night, trauma resurfaced. It was dark, rainy, and cold. I ran barefoot into the street, frozen and desperate, my mind torn between fear and the deep need to be held. But then I remembered their promises: they weren’t going anywhere. I turned back, and there was my dad, waiting, holding me as I cried. Inside, my mom embraced me, just as she always had. That night, I truly understood what it meant to be safe and loved.
Adoption was my choice. In Washington, anyone over 18 declares their parents in court, and that moment was one of the most powerful choices of my life. I chose my parents, and they chose me back. That mutual choosing has created a covenant that cannot be broken. It is the first time I have been confident that something in my life is forever. I will always choose my parents, and I will always be their daughter.
Adoption transformed my life. It gave me my first “forever,” a guaranteed seat at the table, a family that chooses me every day. It turned brokenness into redemption and ashes into beauty. It taught me God’s heart for family, the power of love, and the value of belonging. On my 27th birthday, for the first time, I received a card that said “daughter” on the front. Nine thousand eight hundred fifty-five days were worth the wait. My journey of brokenness has been transformed into a journey toward wholeness—one day at a time, guided by God’s restoration.
I longed to belong, to be seen, to be loved, to fit. That longing never left me. It led me to a Father who found me, a family who formed me, and a home that embraced me fully. And it can lead others, too. According to the National Foster Youth Institute, 23,000 teens age out of foster care every year—20% of them instantly homeless. Age doesn’t limit a child’s need for family, love, or belonging. Adult adoption is possible in most U.S. states. Everyone can play a part: open your home, volunteer, pray, or offer a seat at your table. Belonging is being seen, heard, and loved. Who will you invite to belong?
