This story exists because of a moment that quietly changed everything for us.
After eleven years of knowing Annabelle’s birth mother, Faith, we felt led—for the very first time—to invite her and Annabelle’s younger sister, OliviAnn, into our home for a Christmas celebration and an overnight stay. It was our first holiday together under one roof, and it felt significant in a way that’s hard to put into words. Watching Annabelle’s relationship with her sister deepen, seeing the joy and security it brings her to know both her sister and her birth mother, and witnessing the memories being formed made something clear: this relationship isn’t just meaningful now—it matters for who the girls will become as adults.
Spending that time together, having real conversations, sharing laughter, and simply being present with one another made us realize that our story might help others see open adoption differently. We know that not every adoption can or should be open, and that not every birth parent is safe, available, or emotionally able to be involved in a child’s life. But for families who are blessed with a birth parent like Faith, knowing that a deeper, healthier relationship is even possible—beyond what many are told—matters.
I want to be clear from the beginning: this is not a blueprint for every adoption. It is simply our story, shaped by the people involved, the choices we made, and the grace that met us along the way.
Before adopting Annabelle, nearly every example of adoption I had encountered was either closed or rooted in trauma. I had watched a close friend reopen deep wounds when her birth mother refused contact after she reached out through an agency. That rejection reinforced the belief that adoption often carried unresolved grief and loss.
I had also seen adopted children grow up hearing that they were “lucky” to be chosen—that their lives were better only because their birth parents were “bad people.” While often well-intentioned, that message left lasting scars. It subtly taught children that they came from something unworthy, that they needed to prove their value, and that their story began with something broken.
At the same time, I had witnessed families lovingly adopt sibling groups removed from dangerous environments, doing everything they could to heal children whose first families could no longer keep them safe. Adoption, in my mind, looked heavy — necessary, loving, but complicated and incomplete. I had never seen a healthy example of open adoption lived out relationally.
Still, we hoped that if the right birth mother came into our lives, maybe we could do things differently.
Initially, I assumed open adoption would be limited: letters exchanged once or twice a year through an agency, giving Annabelle some sense of her origins and the option to seek connection later in adulthood. That assumption changed the moment we met Faith. There was an immediate connection that felt undeniable, and it became clear that our path would not follow the script we had imagined.
As Annabelle’s birth approached, fear surfaced in ways I hadn’t expected. I was terrified Faith would change her mind. I remember crying in the hospital parking lot while we waited for the call that would tell us whether we could finally meet our baby. When it came—six hours later—the moment was overwhelming.
We saw Faith’s grief and the visible weight of her decision, but also her resolve. She welcomed us into her hospital room, invited us to hold Annabelle, and allowed us to step into those first sacred moments together. We stayed that evening, feeding Annabelle, talking with Faith and her parents about hopes, boundaries, and how we could all love her well.
None of us knew exactly what we were doing. But we all knew what we wanted: to surround Annabelle with as much love as possible.
In those early months, as boundaries were being established, I carried quiet fears that Annabelle might one day wish she had never been placed with us. Over time—and through prayer—I realized something deeper. Annabelle was never going to be asked to choose. J.R. and I would love her unconditionally, and Faith would love her unconditionally. Love was not a limited resource. It could expand.
Adoption reshaped our definition of family in ways we never anticipated. Family, we’ve learned, is not defined by structure, shared DNA, or who lives under one roof. Families come in many forms—blended families, single parents, children raised by grandparents or extended relatives, siblings who don’t live together but share deep bonds. All of them are families when love is present.
For us, family is defined by the people who show up consistently, who love Annabelle unconditionally, and who make decisions intended to improve her life. I often tell Annabelle that I love her no matter what—on her best days and her worst—and that nothing she could ever do would change that. We’ve also always been clear that her birth mother loves her just as deeply, and that her placement came not from abandonment, but from courage and love.
As Annabelle has grown, her voice has always mattered. The openness of these relationships has adjusted naturally with her needs, her curiosity, and her sense of safety.
We never expected that adoption would expand our family to include Faith and her parents, but over eleven years they have become a true part of our extended family. We text, FaceTime, visit, and share our lives with one another just as we do with siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
One of the most unexpected moments in our journey came through an ancestry DNA test Annabelle took for a school project. As we explored her results, we noticed genetic connections tracing back to Huntington, West Virginia—where my husband grew up. As we compared family trees, names began to overlap. After confirming the results, we discovered that my husband, Annabelle, and Faith all traced back to the same great-great-grandparents generations earlier.
That moment gave me chills. It felt like confirmation of something we had always sensed—that this connection wasn’t accidental. I often picture life like the back of a tapestry, where the threads look tangled and disconnected. But God sees the front—the finished design. Adoption gave us a glimpse of that bigger picture.
When people ask about the hard parts of open adoption, our answer often surprises them. The truth is, there haven’t been many.
The biggest challenge has been logistics—coordinating schedules, especially during seasons like COVID. During that time, we lost physical visits but never lost connection. Like many families, we adapted through FaceTime and phone calls.
Boundaries, another common concern, have not been an issue. Annabelle has always felt free to reach out to Faith, and as she’s gotten older, her desire to connect has increased. We see that as a sign of safety and trust, not confusion.
This didn’t happen by accident. It required ongoing communication, self-reflection, and a willingness to check our own fears rather than project them onto Annabelle.
Now, eleven years into this journey, I can see how our experience has changed the way others view adoption. When we shared plans for our first overnight holiday together, the response wasn’t worry—it was excitement. People were hopeful for joy, connection, and love. That shift is part of what motivated me to write this story.
But at the end of the day, the impact on others matters far less than what this story means for the child at the center of it all.
What I want Annabelle to know someday is simple: every choice we made was grounded in love. She came to us through love—from a brave young woman who made an unimaginably difficult decision at seventeen. That choice completed our family, and I cannot imagine our lives any other way.
Would I choose open adoption again? A hundred times, yes.
While this path is not available or appropriate for everyone, I would encourage expectant adoptive parents to listen to their instincts, their faith, and what feels right for their family. Don’t let your journey be led solely by fear. Read the stories of what goes wrong—but also read the stories of what goes right. When adoptive parents and birth families choose hope, love, and clear boundaries, it is possible to create something deeply beautiful.
Adoption does not have to be defined only by loss. It can grow into something rooted in connection, faith, and a love that expands rather than divides.
