My name is Ashli Carnicelli. When I was just about to turn a year old, my biological mother gave me up for adoption. This was in 1983, when all birth records were sealed at adoption, also called a “closed adoption.” When this process is done, the birth certificate or birth record of the child is destroyed in order to not disclose the identity of the biological mother as she relinquishes all parental rights to the child.

 

My parents brought me home as their foster child 2 months later, and then one year later my adoption to them was finalized. A new birth certificate was issued – a letter from the state of Massachusetts saying that I was born to my adoptive parents on the date of my birth. 

 

Since I was almost 2 years old when I was adopted, I have memories of the day, with the judge sitting at his desk in his chambers smoking a cigar, a chain connecting his floating desk to the bookcase above. “Who would want to adopt this ugly kid?” his voice boomed, and the room erupted in laughter. I remember the party after at my parents’ house, with gifts, including a tea set. Every year, my parents and I celebrate the day: October 18th. 

 

As I grew, I had so many questions. Who was my birth mother? What did she look like? What nationalities was she? Where did I come from? And the question of all questions: WHO AM I?

 

My Mom had made me a photo album which included some early photographs of me that my birth mother had taken. At age 10, I was curious and peeled the sticky plastic paper of the album back to touch the photo. I knew that my birth mother had touched this photo, and I wanted to touch it too.

 

What I did not expect, was the spelling of my name on the back of the photo: “AshLi - Christmas 1982”; or “AshLi, 5 months old, 1983”.

 

I brought one of the photos to my parents seated in our living room. “Hey! Someone spelled my name wrong on the back of these photos! Did my birth mom not know how to spell?” I asked.  This spelling was different from the A-S-H-L-E-Y Ashley I went as.  

 

They sat me down. “Actually, that was the spelling of your name before we adopted you.” My Mom then presented me with a handwritten letter from my biological mother. The letter was from her to my parents, explaining why she gave me up, disclosing a lack of medical problems in family history for us to know, and explaining my name. She had named me “Ashtaroth Li.” Her words were, “I didn’t want to saddle her with a mouthful like that, so I contracted it to AshLi.”

 

I was stunned. I felt so many emotions – excited to have more information and to have a piece of my biological Mom and of my history. I also felt hurt and sad that this information had been kept from me.

 

I went to a play rehearsal that night at our Catholic church and cried to my friends. One of them said, “Your parents love you, Ashli. They were just trying to protect you.” I understood. I truly did! I knew that it was out of love. I also knew that my parents wanted to protect my upbringing, as the recommendation at the time was closed adoption, believing that if a child was in contact with their biological family while growing up in their adoptive family, it might be confusing and create a lot of turmoil for all of the families involved. While there was indeed a sense of normalcy in my family at home – two loving parents and myself, their daughter – I had an almost indescribable sense that while I could place my identity and my role and my place in the world with my family, that I also coexisted as two other parents’ child in a parallel universe. I felt myself a living experiment of nature vs. nurture. 

 

When I turned 18, my parents contacted my maternal biological Grandmother, whose name and address had been provided through my social workers in another letter from my birth mother. My parents gave me two more letters from her, as well as photographs of her. My grandmother had been waiting for the phone call, anticipating my 18th birthday. I saw a photograph of myself in my birth mother's arms staring straight up at her, into her eyes. “I was looking right at her! Why didn’t I remember her?” I thought. 

 

When I met my biological mother, I found more questions than answers. She, too, had been born to my grandmother out of wedlock and did not know who her biological father was. I knew that my grandmother’s side of the family were all English and Welsh and that we descended from Mayflower passengers John Howland, Elizabeth Tilley, and John Alden. I shared some similarities, of course, but our meeting did not lead to the sense of identity I had hoped for. I had begun to feel that my very existence had been random and accidental. 

 

Sixteen years later, at the age of 35, I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I bore my very first testimony at the pulpit, recalling a time in college when I was researching my biological father and had come to so many dead ends. I went to mass that evening at my Catholic church, and after receiving communion I knelt in my pew to pray with tears in my eyes. I heard a loving voice whisper, “It doesn’t matter who made you, AshLi, because I made you.”

 

At the time that I bore my testimony, I was 6 months pregnant with our 3rd daughter, Adaline. I said, “I do not know the full picture of my heritage, but I am grateful to know that I am a beloved daughter of Heavenly Parents.” 

 

Two days later, I received a message in my inbox on 23andme.com. My husband had purchased a DNA test for me four years earlier for Mother’s Day. He said, “I know how much you wish you could share your heritage with Isla Rose” – our oldest and only daughter at the time. I had kept my profile public with the hopes that one day I would be contacted by someone on my biological father’s side of the family, and that is exactly what happened.

 

The message was from my first cousin, my biological dad’s niece. We had matched. She wrote, “My father has only one brother, and I think he is your father.” She contacted him and he immediately wanted to be in touch with me. We spent 2 weeks texting and talking on the phone. We were so similar. I couldn’t believe it. I ordered a paternity test. He swabbed his cheek in New Hampshire and I swabbed mine in North Carolina. The end result was that we were a match, father and daughter. He had no idea I had even been born!

 

It was only after meeting him that I learned the full story of my heritage beyond what my DNA could tell me. My biological grandmother – my biological dad’s Mom – and I were exactly alike. We had similar gifts and abilities.  She also was born out of wedlock and had found her biological father when she was 35. We even went out on dates in the same places as teenage girls. I was astounded.

 

Meeting that side of the family explained so much and answered so many lifelong questions. It also resolved my suspicion that I was part Native American. I am, from my biological father’s side. My great-grandmother and her line are from Utica, New York, and we descend from the Mohawk Nation of Tribes. We do not know which one.  My grandmother attended many different powwows all around New England to connect herself with her heritage.

 

Having just learned the gospel and knowing my spiritual and divine identity, understanding my background from a temporal perspective has filled my soul with a wholeness and indescribable joy.  

 

A week later after I found my biological father, my birth mom called me. She had found her biological father and siblings! He was deceased, but her entire family tree on Ancestry.com lit up with information. I had names, birthplaces, birthdates. After receiving my endowment, I soon became the family historian, preparing names for the temple, and I have done ordinance work now for my adoptive parents, my husband’s parents’ family, my biological mother’s side AND my biological father’s side.

 

I have heard their whisperings through the veil of reassurances that “we are aware of you; the Lord sent you to earth for this time; you are not an accident.”

 

The Spirit told me what my temple name would be, and on the day of my endowment, the matron said it. The Lord called me by name. I am seen, and I am known. 

 

There is no question about it – every single human being on this earth is a child of Heavenly Parents with a divine nature and destiny. We are each seen and known by our Heavenly Parents, our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the angel armies of our ancestors who are cheering us on from the other side of the veil. We each matter. We each have a purpose. We each possess divine dignity and a spiritual lineage of love. I testify that I know that this is true, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.