Our adoption story

The following is the text of a speech our daughter, Faith, gave recently. You’ll find a short background of our adoption story in the second section of her speech; but I’m posting the whole speech A) for context; and, B) it gives me an excuse to brag about my daughter to the world…because we’re indescribably proud of her.

Travel by Faith Wood

In 2015, my family and I flew across the world to rural Metkei, Kenya. Going as far from my comfort zone as one could possibly get, both figuratively and geographically, I was surrounded by not only strangers, but strangers who didn’t speak my language. What I knew of the new environment nearly made me break out in hives; spotty electricity, questionable food which ranged anywhere from beans and rice to termites and corn meal mush. I won’t even tell you about the bathroom situation.

While learning to cook beans over an open fire in a mud hut, I glanced out and saw a girl about my age walking down the street with a water jug on her head and a baby strapped on her back. Noticing how exhausted this girl looked, I decided to leave my place by the fire to talk to her. As I approached the girl, the sweat on her brow and fatigue on her face told me she must have been walking for a significant distance. I attempted to speak to her, but she spoke little to no English. Panting for breath, she hunched over attempting to move the baby into a more comfortable position. Being a baby lover and not knowing how else to help, I motioned my willingness to hold the baby for her. She gratefully handed the baby over and walked to the nearby well to fill her jar. As I stared at the baby in my arms, I knew something was off. Her hair was grey colored rather than a dark black. Her dark skin looked ashy, and the whites of her eyes appeared yellow. She seemed weak and unnaturally skinny. Based on her size, I guessed she was around four months old. I was worried and tracked down the church pastor to translate for me. Rather than directing my questions to the girl, he spoke to an older woman, the girls’ mother. Through much translation, the baby’s mother told me of her seven children, the youngest being the baby in my arms who happened to share my name, Faith. In an attempt to provide a better life for two of Faith’s siblings, the mother placed them in a children’s home where they receive food and lodging, unlike in their own home where their mother, who worked tirelessly as an abandoned single mother, remained unable to provide for her children. She explained that she and her kids walk about eight miles to the church every day for clean water at the well. Before a well with clean water was built at the church, they hiked about sixteen miles for muddy, dirty water from a stream. She continued, saying that Faith was not four months old as I had thought, but to my shock, a year old. She had no teeth in her tiny mouth and could not sit up, much less crawl. I feared that if something drastic didn’t happen she might not live another week. The pastor confirmed my fear stating softly, “She is starving to death.” The impact of that realization was one of the hardest feelings I have ever experienced. Here I am holding this sweet, innocent baby in my arms who could die any minute because she and her family are so poverty stricken. That night I prayed that God would help this baby and He told me to help her. It was then that I decided to sponsor her through a local organization (Christian Relief Fund – CRF), even if it meant sacrificing all of my spending money and selling everything I owned. This sponsorship provides food, payment for medical expenses, clothes, and allows her to receive an education.

This year makes six years since I began sponsoring Faith, and the changes in her are drastic. Her skin is a dark glowing brown—free from the ashy-ness seen in her infancy. Her mother no longer worries about her starving, and Faith continues to grow up healthy and happy. In 2018, I visited Kenya a second time and was in tears again, but this time not because of holding a dying baby. This time, standing in front of me was baby Faith who was no longer a baby, but a little girl, quietly singing to herself and clapping her hands. Yes, Faith is still skinny, small, and underweight, but she is alive and healthy. And, because God allowed me to travel outside of my comfort zone to Africa, I saw how far Faith has progressed. I jumped rope with her. I sang with her. I drew pictures with her. And I prayed with her. My views became more wholesome and charitable because God pushed me out of my comfort zone and told me to talk to one weary girl who needed help carrying a baby.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”

After returning to my comfort zone from Kenya, I had the weirdest feeling after a while; I missed it. I missed the culture of Kenya and wanted a broader view of the world than my comfort zone provided. So, yet again, my family and I left our comfort zone. This time, however, we only needed to travel twenty minutes across the city. You see, my city of Amarillo is home to one of the largest refugee populations per capita—primarily composed of African and Burmese refugees. We decided to help. While helping a refugee family move into a new apartment, I once again found myself in a conversation with people who spoke no English, but this time I was more comfortable, and I realized how much it meant to them that I tried to talk to them despite the language barrier. Soon, my family started visiting the park across town every Thursday night, building relationships, and making new friends. Their culture is vastly different than mine. We saw one family every week, and the four girls became precious friends. We had sleepovers, painted nails at the park, and ate dinner sitting on their living room floor. This family later introduced us to a 7-week-old baby girl who needed someone to care for her. After a long series of events, baby Anaya ended up living with my family. 11 months later, Anaya has officially become part of our family. If my family and I stayed in our comfort zones instead of embracing a culture different from our own, I would never receive the blessing of having Anaya as my new baby sister.

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”

Coming out of your comfort zone can be scary especially if it involves flying across the world, or even driving across the city. But you don’t have to go to these extremes to escape your comfort zone. You can walk across the street. At about five years old I remember praying for an older sister. I wanted an older sister and begged my parents incessantly. I remember my parents telling me that they can’t provide me with an older sister, because, you know, it’s biologically impossible to give birth to an older sibling. Being who I am, I ignored them and continued asking. Their response: ask Jesus. That is exactly what I did. At the same time, relationships were being built with the family across the street. About six months later, Mary, our across the street, fifteen-year-old neighbor moved in with us. With much brokenness in her life, she found herself in a dark place. The plan was for her to move in temporarily to get a fresh start, but she ended up living with us permanently. God answered my prayer. He gave me a big sister.