Never an Orphan

Growing up, I thought I was an orphan, unwanted and abandoned by my “real” family. I imagine many kids have such thoughts, possibly influenced by books or movies. But in my case, these thoughts came from my own family and friends.

“Is Sheila adopted?” family friends would ask. “She doesn’t look like anyone in the family.” I don’t remember how my parents responded. But a seed of doubt and fear took root in my heart.

Then, when I was 8 and in the third grade, a classmate came to me saying that my grandmother lived in his house. “She does not, you idiot,” I scoffed. “I know where my grandparents live.”

The Hidden Grandmother

“She does,” Scott retorted. “My mother told me so, and I’ve seen her!” His mother operated a nursing home in their house.

For some reason, I knew he was telling the truth. Maybe it was because he sounded so sure or perhaps it was because of that dormant seed of doubt. Either way, I knew it was true.

So, during recess, I snuck away with Scott to see this grandmother. We crept to the window and looked in. There we saw an elderly woman having her long white hair brushed. I somehow I knew that she really was my grandma.

That’s when the fear and questions began in earnest. Was I unwanted and put up for adoption? Who was this grandmother that no one seemed to want? Why had she been hidden away?

Did my adoptive family really love and want me? Or would I one day be discarded like that poor grandmother?

I must admit that I had an overactive imagination as a child. However, my fears were not entirely unfounded because my father’s parents neither liked nor wanted me.

The little Cinderella

To them, I was a little Cinderella. Birthdays made this fact painfully obvious, since my brothers and I had our birthdays close together. Our paternal grandparents would come to our shared party and bring “gifts.” I’m not sure when I first noticed how different those gifts were.

The boys were given brand new shirts and jeans. I, on the other hand, was given horrendous shorts that Grandma made from old clothes or dish towels. I never wore them because no girl would have been seen dead in them.

I never complained in front of my grandparents, though. Grandpa was mean, strict, and grumpy, and he would never have allowed it. But my belief that I was an unwanted orphan grew.

As an adult, I told my mom about seeing that grandmother. I also confessed my fears of being adopted and how I thought the two were connected. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she asked, surprised that I had been too afraid to mention it.

Mom was incredulous until I reminded her of the things people said and how my grandparents treated me.

“She was your paternal grandfather’s mother,” Mom explained. “He didn’t want her around and wouldn’t let anyone talk about her. Given what I knew about him, it didn’t surprise me that he put her in a nursing home. I never saw or heard of her again.

“Those grandparents were always like that,” she said. “Even when you were little they didn’t want you around. They would take the boys out to their farm, but they’d leave you crying at the gate.”

They only started taking me along when I was old enough to help Grandma clean. Thankfully, I didn’t fully understand their motivation. I was just happy to go. Had I really understood, I would have felt even more like an unwanted Cinderella in her rags – aka, the horrendous shorts.

I started wondering, ‘What if?’ What if one day my family decided to get rid of me – the adopted kid – just as they had done with that grandmother by putting her in a nursing home?

I knew my parents loved me, but Grandpa was a tyrant. My daughter says my parents should have made them take all the kids or none. She thinks that they should have refused all gifts until they learned to treat us equally. But I don’t blame them. I would likely have been afraid to defy him, too.

They carried their improper behavior into my adulthood, as well. They disregarded my husband, deliberately avoiding him and referring to him as “What’s-His-Name.” They even dismissed my children, their beautiful great-grandchildren, as “those kids.”

I’ve often wondered why my dad’s parents disliked me, and only me. All I know is that they were members of the Masonic temple and they hated Jesus. Grandpa wouldn’t even allow anyone to speak the name of Jesus in his presence.

A friend once suggested that they may have rejected me because God’s hand was on me even when I was a child. Maybe they sensed this, and were actually rejecting His Spirit.

Ultimately, I’m grateful for those experiences. I believe they are what really fueled my quest for assurance, permanence, and security.

As I said, I knew my parents loved me. But I also knew what bullies and tyrants were capable of. This made me yearn for a permanent love and a family where I would always feel secure.

My childish fears of being an orphan turned out to be unfounded. In fact, people have often commented over the years on how much I look like my mom. I take that as a true compliment. She was a beautiful woman, inside and out. 

Adopted, yet never an orphan

“In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with pleasure and will.”

Ephesians 1:4-5

In John 14, Jesus announces that He is leaving to prepare a place for us. He promises that He will not abandon us as orphans, but will return for and take us to our eternal home with Him.

So, I was both right and wrong. Yes, I have been adopted — by God who has always loved me. I was never an unwanted orphan and never will be because I am secure in the arms of my loving heavenly Father — and always will be for all eternity.

“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.”

John 14:18

Immage credits: Teddy bear | Altre sono mie.