Why Our Multiracial, Adoptive Family Left the White Evangelical Church

Once upon a time, I grew up in church.  And so did my husband. 

Red carpet, wooden pews, 500-page hymnals, church lake baptisms, summer VBS, KJV Bibles, no-sex-until-marriage, pasty-white-Jesus church.   

Maybe you can relate?  

Once Steve and I were married, we continued to attend church.  Since our wedding day, which was over fifteen years ago (!!!), we have been part of four churches.   As our family grew, and as we learned and evolved, we changed churches when we felt it was necessary for the spiritual health of our family.   

So when did we leave the white evangelical church, and why?  

I had felt a longing, for some time, to find a multicultural, woke, relevant, authentic church that taught our children the faith values we adamantly believed in.  These include:  eternal life and a rich earthly life comes through salvation (choosing to accept Jesus' sacrifice on the cross); that we are to love God and love others; that certain Biblical traditions are important to follow including communion, baptism, prayer, learning God's word (the Bible), and community.  

Then there was 2016.

We had just adopted our fourth child when the 2016 election took place.  I wasn't worried.  I was certain that people would understand and clearly see that now-#45 was not for most people, including women, people of color, those with disabilities, those dreaming of coming to live in the U.S.  As Maya Angelou famously said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time."

Of course, we all know what happened.   

It was the very next morning after the election that I felt this sense of anger that I couldn't shake.  Not over a few days, or a few weeks, or now, even after a few years.  I just cannot make peace with where our country is.   

I know, Bible peeps are reminding me of John 16:33:  "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

The political climate just felt and still feels so...personal.  Every tweet from the not-presidential President.  Every audio and video clip.  The social media responses.  The election signs on people's cars and in their yards.  Those MAGA hats (Jesus, help me).  

Then there were the right-wing social media trolls who left racist comments about my children on Twitter.  Disgusting, vile things meant to rattle us.  Where did these trolls come from?  I don't know, but they sure crawled out of their hole in early 2017.

I wasn't naive. I didn't think that any other candidate would save the world.  But I did feel that others had more experience, more history, and certainly, better morals, ethics, and standards. 

Then the reports.  Overwhelmingly, white evangelicals were backing up this President and continued to do so, even though he paid off a porn star (and cheated on his wife), even though he bragged about grabbing women inappropriately, even though he chucked paper towels at people of color who were in dire need of shelter and water, even though he made fun of a reporter with a disability, even when he mocked a woman after she testified that she had been sexually assaulted by the then Supreme Court judge nominee, even when he called one woman "horseface" and another a "dog."  I could list dozens of examples, but let's move on. 

Now, I am not throwing our previous church homes under the proverbial bus.  There were some wonderful, woke, empathetic, kind people among us.  

But what was missing was so important:  people of color in leadership, an acknowledgement of the pain people in our country were facing, conversations about how to be more inclusive and welcoming of others beyond just "say hello to the person next to you."  We were always encouraged to invite friends and family to our church events, but how could we invite friends of color when they'd stand out so much among a sea of white congregants?  

I know this to be true:  when you aren't represented, you know it.  You feel it.  You see it.  And others do too, even if they don't say so.  

And it's really awkward, uncomfortable, and often offensive.  

We worked hard, very hard, to find a diverse church.  But when I asked church leadership about their diversity, many would say yes, their church was diverse.  But then we'd visit and there'd be maybe two multiracial families (almost always at least one of them was an adoptive family).  Or when I'd ask about diversity, the leadership response would be "we're working on that."  

What does that even mean?  Working on diversity?  

I didn't want to be the token multiracial family who would suddenly appear on the church website or social media feed in order for that church to prove they were welcoming of people of all races.

Thanks, but no thanks. 

Yes, I'm skeptical.  White America, which exists everywhere, even in church, and today is SUPPORTED BY people who claim to be Christian, makes me very uncomfortable.  

It's not that we believe a church has to change their values based on current events.  But BECAUSE of current events, the church should step up their already proclaimed values.  

After an exhaustive search for the perfect (or even slightly flawed) diverse church, we realized it just didn't exist.  So we decided to attend a church I had heard about once from our girls' first mentor. 

A Black church.

My main hesitation was not standing out as two white adults with four Black kids, or the scrutiny we might face, as we so often do, for being a multiracial family.   Were we good enough to parent Black children?  What were our motives?  

No. 

My main hesitation was this:  were we inappropriately taking up seats in a safe, Black, sacred space?  How would congregants and staff feel seeing two white adults sitting in a church service, many of them not even knowing we had four Black children in children's church?  Were we invading a space that was not meant for us, and rightfully so?

It's not our space.  It's not our place. This is what I told myself in the days leading up to the Sunday we planned to attend for the first time.

But as parents-by-transracial-adoption, it's not even close to being all about us (as the parents).  It's about the kids and the family unit.  

We ultimately decided that we were making this choice for our children.  Not attending church wasn't an option for us.  Attending a church that treated my family as tokens also wasn't an option.  Attending a church that preached love but not standing up to injustice wasn't an option.  Silence is compliance.

To be honest, we felt we were out of options.  If this church didn't work for us, we were done searching.  Because searching is exhausting.

And it turns out, being "out of options" is a really GOOD place to be sometimes.  

I don't mean to say the church we attend was our last choice or last resort.  It wasn't.  We actually re-discovered it at the tail-end of our search (the search we about gave up on).  I talked to the girls mentor about it, and then a friend (fellow mom-by-adoption) who had recently attended with her Black daughter.  But I was holding back out of respect for the church.

I messaged the church admin to ask questions.  She hooked me up with the children's ministry coordinator, in which I asked many more questions.   They both said to me, when are you coming?

It was time.

The experience was amazing.   The church was so ALIVE.  The music, the preaching, the people.  People were hugging us on the FIRST day we attended.  Introducing themselves to my kids.  Not a single whisper, second-glance, or sigh.

So we went back again.  And again.  And again.

A few weeks in, a woman stopped me, my husband, and my second daughter after service and asked if she could talk to our daughter.  We were bewildered, but agreed.  The woman bent down and looked into my daughter's eyes and said, "You are very beautiful.  I want you to know that."  

My daughter (an introvert) quietly replied, "Thank you."   

A few weeks later, my oldest kept telling me she wanted new glasses "like that lady at church."  I had no clue who she was talking about, as there are hundreds of women at church.  Then the next Sunday, my daughter discreetly pointed out an usher, a young woman with fashionable, clear glasses.  So after church, we approached her and told her how much we loved her glasses, and my daughter had a similar pair on order.  The young woman was so sweet to my daughter, telling her she couldn't wait to see her new glasses.

These may seem like small things, but small things add up. 

The truth is, we feel really safe in a church where we are surrounded by people who look like our kids.  I don't worry if someone is petting my girls' braids or interrogating them ("How long did that take?  Did you have to sit still for hours?").  Not ONCE have we been asked if we're the babysitters, the foster parents, or even the "adoptive" parents.  My kids love that their teachers are Black.  

We sit in the sanctuary with so much appreciation.  There's no bashfulness or lengthy explanations for being concerned about another white person calling the police on a Black person for ridiculous things, another shooting of an unarmed Black person, a tweet from #45 that is so clearly racist.   We don't worry about an off-handed comment that sounds like it came straight from a Fox news anchor.  

Because we are all concerned.  Because we all see it for what it is.  

My kids are happy, safe, and embraced.  What more could we ask for as parents?  

And we leave church feeling like we learned.  We learned about God.  We learned about the Bible.  We learned about being better parents and spouses.  

We leave encouraged.  We leave better.  

Not tired.  Not tolerated.  Not used.  

It's incredible.  

If you're feeling lost in today's culture, I completely get it.  You can even be like us:  know who you are and what you want, but struggle SO much to find a house of worship to support and refine that.  

If you're searching for the right church for your family, please do not give up.  Because we almost gave up.  And if we would have, we would have been even more lost, confused, and hurt.  

Keep looking.  Keep asking questions.  Keep pursuing. Make an effort.  Visit churches.  

And don't feel guilty for leaving the white evangelical church if that's what your family needs. 

You were CHOSEN to parent your children.  You were CHOSEN to do what's best for them.  And that doesn't stop on Sunday mornings.  

Dear Church: 6 Things You Need to Know When an Adoptive or Foster Family Visits

Dear Church:

My name is Rachel.  When my family walks through the doors of your facility, you will probably notice us.  Not probably.  Correction.  You will definitely notice us. 

That's OK.  

Two white parents and four Black kids:  we stand out.  We're used to it.   Plus, we're a big family:  large and loud.   

Though we look different, we are there for the same reasons your other congregants are there:  because church is important to us and we want to find a place of belonging, and a place to grow spiritually.   

But can I tell you, there are some thing you need to know about my family/families like ours, families formed by adoption and foster care.   

1:  Don't insist our children go to Sunday School/children's church/nursery.    

Many churches today expect and emphasize that children should go to the designated children's area, not sit in church with their parents.  Trust me when I say, I know kids can be distracting and disruptive, and if my children do something along these lines, I promise to take them out of the service.  

You may wonder, why not?   

Our kids may have traumatic backgrounds.  They may have attachment issues.  They may be completely terrified of strangers.  This goes beyond typical childhood "separation anxiety."  To hand our children to complete strangers and walk away for an hour or so maybe isn't going to happen.

Don't question our decision.  Instead, offer up a "busy bag" for those kids who stay in church.  Or offer empathy and support.  We may not explain to you why our children aren't going with the other kids.  Be OK with that.   Trust that we are the parents and we know what we're doing.  Tell us what services you offer for kids, and then leave it up to us to decide.   

(If your sanctuary isn't welcoming of children, we're not coming back.)  

2:  Don't touch our kids, including their hair.   

This is an issue we encounter everywhere, not just church.  

Curious white hands try to make their way to our Black daughters' intricate cornrows.   

Let me be clear:  you shouldn't touch children you don't know, and you should never touch a Black child's hair.  

Just because their hair has color in it, or beads at the ends, or an afro, these things aren't your invitation to put your hands in our children's hair.  It's inappropriate.  It's a micro-aggression.  And it's offensive.  

You are more than welcome to say how nice/handsome/beautiful their hair is.  Just don't touch it, and don't grill them:  "How long did that take?  That must have taken such a LONG time!"  That's just weird and awkward.  

Again, children with traumatic pasts or special needs may be really uncomfortable with strangers.  I know touch is part of the beauty of the human experience.  But a stranger touching a child can be incredibly anxiety-inducing for our kids.   

So wave.  Say hi.  Introduce yourself.  But don't put pressure on the kids to respond, and certainly, "keep your hands to yourself."  

3:  Don't pour out your adoption story or insist we tell you ours. 

We visited a new church recently where a woman (in a multiracial, biological family) introduced herself, told us all about the children's program, and then asked, "Now are your kids from the same family?"   

Um, are we girlfriends?  Didn't we JUST meet?  

Another woman came up to us and gushed that she was a grandma by adoption.  I think she was excited to meet another family like ours.  But then she proceeded to tell us her grandchild's adoption "story" including the fact that he was abandoned, languished in an orphanage, had special needs, and she wasn't even exactly sure how old he was due to his previous life.   It was uncomfortable.  It was awkward.  It was inappropriate.  

My kids' adoption stories are beautiful, and they are none of your business.  

Examples of what NOT to say:  "Are they real siblings?"  "Are they in foster care?"  "What country are they from?"  "Why did you adopt?"  "Why didn't you have your own kids?"  

If there are other families-by-adoption in your church, and if we attend your church long-term, we'd love to connect with them.  But this is one of our initial visits.  Don't bombard us.  And don't assume that part of our nice-to-meet-you conversation is going to entail us divulging intimate, private family details.  

4:  Don't ask a lot of us or hand us a bunch of crap.

When I walk in the door with six coats, four backpacks (full of toys/snacks/diapers/etc.), my purse, and my family, I just want some Jesus.  I don't want to fill out your paperwork so you can call me, mail me something, or drop something by my house.   Just be friendly and respect boundaries 1-3 that I just shared.  I know you'd like us to come back.  And trust me, we will if it's the right fit for us or we want to learn more.  But just don't put another piece of paper or "free gift" into my already very full hands.   Please.   I cannot.    

And while we're at it:  children's ministry.  Do not give out candy and snacks, many of which my kids' cannot have.  This is not exclusive to adoption/foster care.  

We visited a church a few weeks ago where the kids were given candy before we even had them in their classroom.  Candy two of my four kids cannot have due to the dye in them.  Then when they left, they were handed more candy.  It all went in the trash.   

On the way home, I asked one of my kids how class went, and she told me one of the kids in her class had type 1 diabetes (like I do).  I asked her, "How did you know?"  She said she told the teacher she cannot have the candy because of her diabetes.  (Heartbreak!)

I worked in children's ministry for years.   Please just keep it really simple and fun.   And don't give the mom and dad MORE work.  Getting to church was work enough!   

5:  Don't tell us your church is diverse if it's not.  

One Asian person or two Black people doesn't mean your church is diverse.   

This has happened to us many times.  We call a church to get information, and of course I ask about racial diversity.  What I'm told on the phone and what I see on the church FB page tend to be VERY different.  

Just tell us the truth.  Don't waste my time.  If your church isn't racially diverse, just say so.  You don't have to hide it, apologize, or explain away.  Just give me the truth.

I called a church a few weeks ago and asked.  She said, "it's not right now.  But that is an area of focus for us."  She went on to explain all the things they're doing to become a more woke congregation and increase their diversity.  I very much appreciated her honesty!

6:  Educate your staff on adoption and foster care.

If you have adoptive/foster families in your congregation, ask them to educate your staff and leadership on adoption and foster care.  This helps you not only be a place of welcoming for families like mine, but helps you "lead by example."  You can teach your congregants by knowing what's right and wrong yourself!  

One example would be positive adoption language (PAL).  For example, a child was "placed" for adoption, not "given up" or "given away" or "put up."   A child "was" adopted (if the adoption has been finalized) and should not be referred to as "an adopted child" or "a foster child."  They are first and foremost a child.  (WORDS MATTER!)

The more you learn about adoption and fostering, the more likely you are going to attract and keep families like mine at your church.  And as you do have families join, ask them what they need and how you can support them.  Consider having one of your families head up a ministry just for families like mine.

Of course, you can always snag my book as a no-nonsense, authentic, funny, educational resource on adoption.  

Thank you for reading.  Thank you for listening.  Now go be church to families like mine! 

Love, Rach