EDITOR’S NOTE: This is one in a series of features on Missouri Baptist ministries supported for a century through the Cooperative Program giving of MBC-affiliated churches. Eric Turner serves at Hannibal-LaGrange University as chair of the Division of Humanities and Fine Arts; chair of the Christian Studies Department; associate professor of New Testament and Greek; and director of Church and Denominational Relations.
The Missouri Baptist Children’s Home (MBCH) has been providing care and meeting needs for children, youth, and families since 1886. What began as a dream of several ladies from five Baptist churches has become a life-changing ministry for many, including myself.
I was an orphan, briefly, but now, to use the dominant language of the day, I identify as adopted. I was adopted through the Missouri Baptist Children’s Home.
Eric Turner
The awareness of my adoption began long before I began to notice that my 6-foot-5 teenage body was an anomaly in my family. For reference, my grandmother was all of 4-foot-11.
No, adoption was always a part of my reality.
My parents talked about it positively and even celebrated what they called my Special Birthday.
In adoptive terminology today, we call this Gotcha Day, the day an adopted child is officially united with his or her adoptive family.
Adoption was always a central part of my identity – until it wasn’t.
Let me see if I can explain it.
Adoptions can either be closed or open. The difference is simple.
Closed adoptions occur when the biological mother makes the decision to have no contact with the child once he/she is adopted.
Open adoptions are, of course, the opposite. Even though the distinction is basic, the impact on the child is highly significant depending on which category the child falls into. My adoption was a closed one.
Children who are part of a “closed” adoption experience what I refer to as “The Lost Boys Syndrome,” from Peter Pan. We often feel like strangers, caught up in a reality we did not choose.
I remember, even from an early age, vividly daydreaming about who I might have been had I not been adopted. I imagined what my mom looked like, and if I had siblings or not.
When I met my best friend Kevin during our first year of college, we discovered that we shared the same birthday. We even joked about the possibility that we were separated at birth. Secretly, I hoped it was true. I always wanted a brother. You get my point. Closed adoptions are hard on a person’s identity.
In August 2016, the State of Missouri ceased its practice of closed adoptions. The impetus behind this decision was centered on medical history related to genetics.
Imagine, for example, living in a closed adoption state and sitting in the doctor’s office with chest pains. The doctor asks the obvious question, “Do you have a family history of heart disease?” You shrug your shoulders and force out the answer, “I have no idea, I am adopted.” This ruling led to a flood of adoptees petitioning the state for their unredacted birth certificates.
In November of that same year, I attended the Evangelical Theological Society. I was sitting in a hotel lobby in Denver, pondering whether I should file the paperwork to get my birth certificate.
While I was deep in thought, my theology professor from seminary sat down next to me. I will never forget the conversation because it changed the course of my life and how I understood my identity.
“I think I am going to fill out paperwork to find my birth family,” I said confidently.
“But why?” my professor responded.
“Because I need to know. I need to find them,” I replied.
“But why?”
“Because I want to know where I am really from,” I stated, growing perturbed.
“But why?” he said smiling.
I paused for a moment and then the light finally broke in.
“Because I need to know who I am.”
“There it is,” he said, still smiling down at me. “It’s about identity, right?”
Adoption is about identity, and my story ends (or begins) with meeting my biological brother and sister on Christmas Eve, just a few short months after that illuminating conversation in a hotel lobby.
The good news is that even if I had never found my biological family, the question of identity had already been answered. I am a child of God, an heir with Christ, a recipient of an inheritance that can never be taken away.
Thankfully, the Lord chose to reveal and connect me to an earthly family that continues to be a blessing to my life. This was possible, not only because of their faithfulness as Christians caring for those in need, but also because of countless Missouri Baptists who have supported the ministries of the Missouri Baptist Children’s Home through their gifts to the Cooperative Program.
The generous support of the MBCH by Missouri Baptists through the Cooperative Program led to 1,909 children, youth, and families, and 337 mothers and babies being served in 2023. Four cents of every dollar your church sends to the Cooperative Program helps support the life change that I experienced. And it’s all part of God’s plan. Our God is truly a good Father.