Where it all began...

This past weekend my father drove me, Anna, and Andrew to pick up my grandmother for dinner. As he drive through the winding New England roads he nonchalantly gained the kids attention and said, "Look kids! That is the place where we met your Daddy for the first time." It was so profound yet so common. The weathered buildings stand as a silent witness to the miracle of my adoption into the Partyka family and ultimately into the household of faith.

The Village for Families & Children

My story began on September 22, 1977 when a little boy was born to a young unmarried woman. The result of a fleeting relationship, he was rejected by his father and forfeited by his mother. Immediately he became a ward of the state living in the care of foster parents who were not his own. His future was filled with uncertainty and danger, for this world is a dark and dangerous place without the love and protection of a father and mother. However, he was not forgotten. During the spring of 1977, James and Lucy Partyka struggled with the hopelessness of another year without a child of their own. The devastation of multiple miscarriages had left their hearts weary and their loving arms empty. They had no child of their own to snuggle with, read fairy tales to, or push on the swings. Their house was not a home without a child to share it with. Everything changed with a phone call from Catholic Family Services who informed them that they had a little boy named, “Christian”. The overjoyed couple raced to the office (see picture) where the little boy sat in a small room eating a box of Ritz crackers. The nervous couple slowly entered the room to meet their prospective son. When the little boy took notice of the couple he opened his arms to be picked up by his new Daddy. Without hesitation, they chose to call this little boy their own son. On November 10, 1978 I was declared a Partyka by the State of Connecticut. My parents triumphantly brought to me to their home to meet my grandparents, my uncle, and my new puppy. I slept in their beds on scary nights, ate my mother’s delicious food, and waived to my father from the little league diamond. I listened as they read scripture after dinner, prayed before bedtime, and worshipped with them at church. I picked up their mannerisms, speech habits, and way of thinking. I am loved because they chose to love me. I was born a stranger but now I am their son because they chose to be my parents. I am a Partyka because they chose to give me their name.

Thirty four years later I hold my own son of adoption, Crosby James. United together not by blood or history but by a love that chose to give of oneself. He did not chose me as his father but I chose to love him as my son. He is a constant reminder of the day on a hillside in Connecticut where my earthly father chose to give me his name and his unconditional love. Ultimately, Crosby is a testament to the love of a Heavenly Father who declared me his own on a hillside in Jerusalem some two millennia ago.

"In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved." Ephesians 1:5-6