Before the days of blogs, Twitter feeds, and Facebook updates…before even the ancient practice of writing & mailing an actual letter…we shared via the spoken word. That is the oral tradition. It involved face-to-face interaction (teenagers find this increasingly odd, like people used to really talk to each other in person rather than text messaging?). It involved actually speaking aloud. It involved the telling of stories. Telling after re-telling, from one person to another, from generation to generation.
I’m so glad I don’t live in that age. It sounds exhausting. Instead, we share stories in this way:
We don’t put this up because we like the attention (well, I kinda like attention, but Carita doesn’t :)). In general, we’re really fine with living quiet lives. Becoming famous is just not in the cards for us, if you know what I mean.
So why are we revealing such personal, private, intimate accounts of our lives in such public ways? For one, we believe that our adoption story is a part of a bigger story. The names may change. Substitute Asian faces for Caucasian, African-American, or Latino ones. Change the location from the U.S. to China, Guatemala, or Rwanda. These are still chapters of that bigger story.
Here’s what else we believe: God is writing the ultimate Adoption story and if our smaller story points to this bigger one, it is a story worth telling. And re-telling, again and again.