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The Living Proof of Miracles - My Adoption Story... Digging Down to My Roots
I remember that as I would tell a friend this story in person, her mouth would be partly dropped open and look of disbelief would be painted across her face. Then, she would ask me to repeat a few parts of the story to her because it would be so hard to grasp... To be quite honest, even I have times where I feel the same way. I would tell my friend that I am adopted and she would ask questions about it, but, no matter how much I would tell her, I would always feel like there's so much more to say - that we barely scratched the surface. So, maybe writing this story instead of verbally telling you will more thoroughly explain it - at least, as much as I can explain it, because this all happened in the first two years of my life. The parts I don't remember on my own were explained to me by my mother. I will do the best I can.
My mother grew up praying for a daughter - especially when the Lord ended up giving her four sons, and she went through a miscarriage with a daughter. But, one day, as my mom was making breakfast, my father walked in crying saying that he had a dream, and that there was a girl somewhere in the world who needed a family. So they started praying, asking God where they should go to adopt and asked Him to direct them toward that girl. My father found a number for an adoption agency in LA and called them, and they told my parents to pray about adopting from Kazakhstan. Knowing how unsafe it is in Kazakhstan and how they don't like Americans, my mom didn't want to adopt from there. So she kept praying. Later, my parents were in the car with my third oldest brother, and my mom was telling my dad that unless God said otherwise, that they should adopt from China. But, my brother spoke up and showed my parents a coloring book a missionary had given him in his Sunday school class that morning, talking about orphans in Kazakhstan. As my mother looked at it, she started crying and then finally agreed with my dad to look into adopting from Kazakhstan. They prayed about it, and later went to work on it, since they felt that God was calling them to adopt a Kazakh girl.
I was born February 4th, 2002 in Pavlodar, Kazakhstan to a poor seamstress mother, Sandogosh Sabagotova. I had two biological brothers who did not know about me because, since having a child without a spouse was frowned upon in the Muslim religion, my birth mother had to keep the pregnancy a secret. Luckily for her, this all took place in the winter, so she could hide her baby bump under layers of clothes. She lied to the police when I was already about 14 months old at the time, saying that she never had a baby. She induced the labor and, after trying to have me at home but not being able to pass me, she later gave birth to me in a hospital a month early. It was a closed adoption, so, in order to prevent her from becoming attached, she didn't see me when I was born. I was named Salima Amantaevna (after what my birthmom claimed my father's name was - Amantay Kalimuldinovich) Sabagotova. then, after my time in the hospital, I was brought to the orphanage. I still pray that God would let her know that I am thankful that she gave me a chance to live instead of aborting me, which, being given the condition she lived in, she could have done.
I will never understand how the treatment of the orphans was ever allowed. I wore dirty boys' clothes, I had my head shaved because of lice, I had rag doll syndrome (the muscles in my legs didn't work), I was not bathed regularly, I was fed terrible food and had food poisoning, and I would often become deathly sick. Also, when the orphans were given their vaccines, we were vaccinated with the same needle. When my mom found this out, she confronted the ladies working there, and, to her dismay, they said "Don't worry. We do the sick ones last". My mother gave them child care products such as diapers, and told them to give them to the orphans. But, she later caught them selling them on the streets instead of using them for the orphans. Also, the workers showed little, if any, affection to the orphans, so, if a baby cried, it would just lay there and miserably cry until it stopped. Because of this (and being malnourished), my small body from being born a month early couldn't grow because it didn't have the stimulation from being held and loved on (called "failure to thrive").
My mother told me a sad story of a little boy she and my father met at the orphanage. They called him "Monkey Boy" because he would crawl into my father's arms, clearly displaying his desperate hunger and need to be loved. One day, my parents couldn't find the boy, and when they asked the ladies at the front desk where he went, they said that they had no idea who the boy was, and that he wasn't in their records. But, my mother found out that he hated the workers there and they hated him back, so we don't know what happened to the boy.
Here is where I must tell you about the hell my parents went through during this process. My parents risked their lives by going to Kazakhstan, Russia's nuclear testing grounds (the reason for the deaths of my ancestors). The planes were old and were left over from the last war, the food was often not safe, and my parents were unknowingly walking around in the radiation when the winds were blowing and everybody else was indoors. But, regardless of the risks, my parents kept going. After one of their visits, they even showed their perseverance to me by giving me a "goodbye doll", a small baby doll clad in purple plaid overalls and a matching Newsboy cap. This doll was given to me to say "This is only a goodbye for now. We will be back". I still have it.
After a long, painful process of being scammed, lied to, taken advantage of, and being urged to adopt other children, my parents were sent home empty-handed and broken hearted. My family and their friends were all deeply saddened over the news - my third oldest brother could not eat, and had to take a break from school because he would cry uncontrollably. My parents were even going to sell the house they were living in because the house was prepared for them to bring me home, and being sent home empty-handed made it too painful to live there anymore.
My mother finally gathered herself enough to go and start to empty her suitcase. But, inside the suitcase was a business card of a woman my mother met in Kazakhstan, who was on a Hallmark show called "An Adoption Story". My mom called the woman to tell her the sad news, but the woman told my mom that she had been trying to get ahold of her to tell her that there was a Kazakh attorney - a Russian man named Yakov - that was angered by what happened with me and my parents, and had placed legal hold over me with the court system. She said that Yakov had been trying to get a hold of my parents. My mom called Yakov and the first thing he said was "Muddy (Mary), what took you so long?". He helped my parents get all the paperwork they needed and helped them so they could go back to Kazakhstan and finally get me. Thanks to God and Yakov, my parents succeeded.
Now, after being one of the last Kazakh orphans out to an American family (if not the last), I have been in America with my family for 16 years, and have lived in California all of my life since then. I have stayed at the same school and church, and was raised by a big, loving Christian family with four awesome and unique older brothers. I am now 18 years old, about to graduate high school and later go to college, and I'm so thankful for my life. I am also thankful that God gave me the chance last week to call Yakov, the Kazakh attorney that helped my parents adopt me. Through my tears and failing speech, I was able to thank him for all of his help, and I told him about my life. He called all of it "beautiful" and we agreed to stay in touch.
I will never understand anyone who ever says that miracles aren't real or God isn't real. How else would this whole story have happened? If God wasn't real then he wouldn't even have put it on my parents' hearts in the beginning to adopt a Kazakh girl. My brother wouldn't have mentioned Kazakh orphans to my parents, because he learned about them in his Sunday school class at church. None of this would have ever happened. After you're done reading this, I challenge you to take some time to think about what things that happened in your life that could only have happened through miracles. The way you know it is from a miracle is if there is no other way to explain how, through the hardships, the thing that happened ended up happening anyways. Again, as always, I feel like there is still so much more to say, but this is my story in the best way I can describe it. It's okay if it is still hard to grasp - I still feel the same way. Thank you for taking the time to dig deeper with me to my roots. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm excited to move forward with you.
Best,
Faith Ehret
My mother grew up praying for a daughter - especially when the Lord ended up giving her four sons, and she went through a miscarriage with a daughter. But, one day, as my mom was making breakfast, my father walked in crying saying that he had a dream, and that there was a girl somewhere in the world who needed a family. So they started praying, asking God where they should go to adopt and asked Him to direct them toward that girl. My father found a number for an adoption agency in LA and called them, and they told my parents to pray about adopting from Kazakhstan. Knowing how unsafe it is in Kazakhstan and how they don't like Americans, my mom didn't want to adopt from there. So she kept praying. Later, my parents were in the car with my third oldest brother, and my mom was telling my dad that unless God said otherwise, that they should adopt from China. But, my brother spoke up and showed my parents a coloring book a missionary had given him in his Sunday school class that morning, talking about orphans in Kazakhstan. As my mother looked at it, she started crying and then finally agreed with my dad to look into adopting from Kazakhstan. They prayed about it, and later went to work on it, since they felt that God was calling them to adopt a Kazakh girl.
I was born February 4th, 2002 in Pavlodar, Kazakhstan to a poor seamstress mother, Sandogosh Sabagotova. I had two biological brothers who did not know about me because, since having a child without a spouse was frowned upon in the Muslim religion, my birth mother had to keep the pregnancy a secret. Luckily for her, this all took place in the winter, so she could hide her baby bump under layers of clothes. She lied to the police when I was already about 14 months old at the time, saying that she never had a baby. She induced the labor and, after trying to have me at home but not being able to pass me, she later gave birth to me in a hospital a month early. It was a closed adoption, so, in order to prevent her from becoming attached, she didn't see me when I was born. I was named Salima Amantaevna (after what my birthmom claimed my father's name was - Amantay Kalimuldinovich) Sabagotova. then, after my time in the hospital, I was brought to the orphanage. I still pray that God would let her know that I am thankful that she gave me a chance to live instead of aborting me, which, being given the condition she lived in, she could have done.
I will never understand how the treatment of the orphans was ever allowed. I wore dirty boys' clothes, I had my head shaved because of lice, I had rag doll syndrome (the muscles in my legs didn't work), I was not bathed regularly, I was fed terrible food and had food poisoning, and I would often become deathly sick. Also, when the orphans were given their vaccines, we were vaccinated with the same needle. When my mom found this out, she confronted the ladies working there, and, to her dismay, they said "Don't worry. We do the sick ones last". My mother gave them child care products such as diapers, and told them to give them to the orphans. But, she later caught them selling them on the streets instead of using them for the orphans. Also, the workers showed little, if any, affection to the orphans, so, if a baby cried, it would just lay there and miserably cry until it stopped. Because of this (and being malnourished), my small body from being born a month early couldn't grow because it didn't have the stimulation from being held and loved on (called "failure to thrive").
My mother told me a sad story of a little boy she and my father met at the orphanage. They called him "Monkey Boy" because he would crawl into my father's arms, clearly displaying his desperate hunger and need to be loved. One day, my parents couldn't find the boy, and when they asked the ladies at the front desk where he went, they said that they had no idea who the boy was, and that he wasn't in their records. But, my mother found out that he hated the workers there and they hated him back, so we don't know what happened to the boy.
Here is where I must tell you about the hell my parents went through during this process. My parents risked their lives by going to Kazakhstan, Russia's nuclear testing grounds (the reason for the deaths of my ancestors). The planes were old and were left over from the last war, the food was often not safe, and my parents were unknowingly walking around in the radiation when the winds were blowing and everybody else was indoors. But, regardless of the risks, my parents kept going. After one of their visits, they even showed their perseverance to me by giving me a "goodbye doll", a small baby doll clad in purple plaid overalls and a matching Newsboy cap. This doll was given to me to say "This is only a goodbye for now. We will be back". I still have it.
After a long, painful process of being scammed, lied to, taken advantage of, and being urged to adopt other children, my parents were sent home empty-handed and broken hearted. My family and their friends were all deeply saddened over the news - my third oldest brother could not eat, and had to take a break from school because he would cry uncontrollably. My parents were even going to sell the house they were living in because the house was prepared for them to bring me home, and being sent home empty-handed made it too painful to live there anymore.
My mother finally gathered herself enough to go and start to empty her suitcase. But, inside the suitcase was a business card of a woman my mother met in Kazakhstan, who was on a Hallmark show called "An Adoption Story". My mom called the woman to tell her the sad news, but the woman told my mom that she had been trying to get ahold of her to tell her that there was a Kazakh attorney - a Russian man named Yakov - that was angered by what happened with me and my parents, and had placed legal hold over me with the court system. She said that Yakov had been trying to get a hold of my parents. My mom called Yakov and the first thing he said was "Muddy (Mary), what took you so long?". He helped my parents get all the paperwork they needed and helped them so they could go back to Kazakhstan and finally get me. Thanks to God and Yakov, my parents succeeded.
Now, after being one of the last Kazakh orphans out to an American family (if not the last), I have been in America with my family for 16 years, and have lived in California all of my life since then. I have stayed at the same school and church, and was raised by a big, loving Christian family with four awesome and unique older brothers. I am now 18 years old, about to graduate high school and later go to college, and I'm so thankful for my life. I am also thankful that God gave me the chance last week to call Yakov, the Kazakh attorney that helped my parents adopt me. Through my tears and failing speech, I was able to thank him for all of his help, and I told him about my life. He called all of it "beautiful" and we agreed to stay in touch.
I will never understand anyone who ever says that miracles aren't real or God isn't real. How else would this whole story have happened? If God wasn't real then he wouldn't even have put it on my parents' hearts in the beginning to adopt a Kazakh girl. My brother wouldn't have mentioned Kazakh orphans to my parents, because he learned about them in his Sunday school class at church. None of this would have ever happened. After you're done reading this, I challenge you to take some time to think about what things that happened in your life that could only have happened through miracles. The way you know it is from a miracle is if there is no other way to explain how, through the hardships, the thing that happened ended up happening anyways. Again, as always, I feel like there is still so much more to say, but this is my story in the best way I can describe it. It's okay if it is still hard to grasp - I still feel the same way. Thank you for taking the time to dig deeper with me to my roots. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm excited to move forward with you.
Best,
Faith Ehret
