Adoption. Part 1: It Helped Me

I was adopted. For hundreds of you reading this, this is not news to you. I have written of it. I claim it. It is acknowledged in my tattoos and evident in family photos.

My faith up-bringing gives much laud to adoption; it is an imagery bringer of the faith family and heirs to earthly and heavenly inheritance. However, I find ancient adoption to be far different than modern day adoption in my studies and learnings. Ancient adoption often was reserved for older youth, even adults, who had proved worthy of responsibility, inheritance, or family pride. After assessment, not necessarily love leading, people could be welcomed into a “bloodline” with a mere legal status shift.

Modern day adoption focuses on infants, youth, and often keeps performance off the table. Today adoption lofts love and family whole-making, deep meaning and belonging as promises. Adoptions in either era are prone to human faults and yet we know of and see also the extraordinary success stories.

Adoption has social justice out-workings and even social popularity peaks if one were to survey the last several decades.

But cultural and societal contexts aside,

it is personal…

…for each family,

each child,

every time.

It helped me.

Adoption helped me gain a family. Adoption helped me learn that the world was big, my birth country always a globe spin away from where I lived. Adoption taught me of race with constant submersion from having a Korean brother and a Dutch American brother.

I have never been the majority race or ethnicity in my family or communities, which gives me rich experience as I strive for inclusivity everywhere and equity in education. I never assumed I was right or that there was only one way to look at something, which as an adult, I think this is a win from adoption’s ripple effect.

Adoption taught me to look for people and see hearts. I knew from elementary age that people had stories far beyond what their family presented, their clothes could tell, and their words chose to reveal. I am proud of this fabric within my spirit.

Adoption, in pictures and instruction, exposed me to a profession that I would follow for my own. Adoption gifted me an upbringing that had education, although, I fully know now, that I would have learned much in the schools of the nuns back in Bangladesh. However, for 30+ years, I did not know that. In the unknowing, my diligence in education always felt like a responsibility back to someone or some choice somewhere.

Adoption gave me memories. There are good childhood memories, there are friends and family, there is a faith community, and also a certain exploration of nature and exercise which came only through being raised on this continent. I am thankful.

Adoption surrounds me with a natural heritage, a sisterhood of nuns, and Stateside family, all which comprise to give me complexity and worlds to explore still.

Adoption taught me that we can belong, even in the oddest of connections and beyond tradition. It is hard to believe this and it took decades to grasp it, but I do know it now.

I am a child of adoption, a grown woman of many of the positives. I believe in it. Not the way I once did, convinced I would adopt a whole gaggle of babies or little kids to pay it back into the universe what had been given me. Now I lean more, with the blessing and shared vision with my husband of how foster care and older teen adoption is more our heart-wiring…

Adoptions helps.

It helps kids.

It helps people with love to offer.

It helps keep family as a leading society-keeper.

It helps teach compassion and diversity.

It helps many.

It hurts, too. But that idea, dear readers, is a post for next week. Interestingly enough, it will be published by the The Mudroom on my “gotcha day”, June 14… something I have never celebrated, since the practice surfaced after my childhood and the idea was less needed as an adult. Honored to be invited into the space and intentionally start here with this post.

Circle back here if the next post gets heavy or hard. I aim to return to broader topics in due time, but in the now, thanks for cracking open the door on adoption as it has been years since I wrote about it publicly in the Love Strong Chronicles.

I am blessed.

I am grateful.

As my own birth-country faces 50,000+ babies to be born in the Rohingya refugee camps alone in 2018, not to mention throughout the densely populated metropolis and scattered jungle villages, adoption of young and welcome of all is always on my heart…

I know for me,

for my story,

adoption mattered,

adoption helped.

I am no longer an orphan.

How has adoption touched your life? Tell me? Tell us?

Chasing hope and choosing peace, Nasreen

First Name: Nasreen (adoption paperwork name, was imagined to be an Ellen or an Ella until my adoptive parents read my name enough that they chose to keep it. )

Middle name: Sue (adoptive mother’s middle name)

Poet Pen name: Asa Nasreen

Asa (Bangla word for hope)

Nasreen (infancy name, Bangla word for Wild Rose)

Legal name: Nasreen S. Fynewever

Grateful for the journey, greater for the journey. #touchedbyAdoption

no. 8 Words 

 no. 8

Some days I just want to go back and listen for hours, placing their stories in my heart…

 

Some days I wish the school bell would not ring and students could stay for hours as we grow and learn together.  

Some days I believe in what I have to offer my family, work, and this life.

But there are also days for which I distance from the hearing others.  There are days which I let the routines and the ever changing hours give comfort. There are certainly days I wobble a bit in confidence and purpose. 

Yet, through it all, this I know:

Words are powerful. I have used some of mine for good and some of mine have fallen short. 

We have millions of words to say and hear in our lifetime. We craft them with care in hopes people hear us true. We also leave them recklessly, at times, for others to interpret or misuse, far removed from our initial intentions. We listen and read with freedom to stretch, share, and set the next step. We take in sentences from orators and poets so that we know we are not alone. 

Words. 

Listen well to others; hold their stories close as you love, do business, play hard, create plans, celebrate accomplishments, come and go near and far from their lives.  

Words join actions to shape our days. Savor the ones that are kind and captivating, take not for granted the ones that teach old truths and new dreams, let good words and stories find place to be valued in your day.  

#birthcountrytravels #adoptee #teacher #stories

Real life takes real stories — INVITATION

Vulnerability.
Belonging.
Worth
.

Trigger words.

They are lauded and lofted as the things that make community work.
Rightly so.
These are needed and craved by human hearts.

But the words.
They trigger.
Our fear.
Our past hurts.
Our current insecurities.

These words play red-rover with our hearts and minds since we are both wired for flight in unsafe scenarios and wired to need connection.

Connection and having a home for your heart is important to me.

It is part of chasing hope.

The hope that as I laugh and cry, dance and bleed, sing and silence in front of you, here, on this blog each Friday in the Love Strong Chronicles, that you will find parts of your story come alive. That you will lean into people near you and share your story. That you will spill across the internet with your big bad bold self and own your passion. That you will heal and arise, that you will do good work where you can, and that you will never give up.

Chase hope with me.
Share your story.

The one you lived last week or the one from decades past.

The one you are proud of and the one you trying to free from shame in.

Friend, I am convinced, that in the sharing of stories–
the story of my life,
the unleashing of yours,
the listening and learning of what real is,
that connections and community will be birthed and our hearts will be of great hope.

Story sharers– We will become a more humble strong, a more resilient courage, and a more active surrendering people.

I am excited to join with places like (in)courage, an online community that has gone got their boots on to hit the floor of our hearts and raise our eyes to community anew.

I am honored to be a part of their 2014 (in)Real Life Conference this April 25 & 26. This is a conference comes to you, right where you do your life.

This FREE conference takes the time to share how real life takes real stories.

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Meet our crew of speakers HERE.

Check out the agenda and register HERE.

So consider this your invitation if you haven’t gotten one already.

Your thing? Join in!

Not your thing? Give it a try.

Not a woman? You know one, right?

Not sure your friend was invited? Get on that!

This isn’t a conference of saints or uncontrollable sobbing, but it is of those who hope and those who will lift emotions to the light of day as stories chase and rest in beautiful truths our hearts need to hear.

And, did I mention, we need YOUR story. We invite you, share life with us a while.

Join us in a month.

Feel free to learn more by visiting the Twitter party tonight at 9 pm EST by searching for the hashtag #inRL or zipping me an email.

If you are in the Twin Cities, I will be hosting in my home Friday night and joining a meet up in Edina on Saturday. You are welcome to join me at either or both places.

In real life…
Cheers.
Chase.
Connect.

nasreen