🪶 Old Mexico, Mexico, and Me: Named by History, Claimed by Grace

My birth certificate reads like a breadcrumb trail to a mystery:

> Father: Born in Old Mexico
Mother: Born in Mexico

Both names unfamiliar to the life I actually lived—
He was a Gutierrez,
She was a Geminez—yes, with a G, not a J.

But I didn’t grow up with those names.
I didn’t sit at their table or learn their lullabies.
Because I was adopted.

Instead, I grew up as Martha Annette Van Scoy—
Raised by Don and Margie,
My mom’s maiden name was Wehr, a name that sounds like quiet strength.

So where does that leave me?

Not between worlds…
But stitched together by them.

Because names aren’t just given. Sometimes, they’re gathered.

When people ask me where I’m from, I take a deep breath.

> I’m from Old Mexico,
But I never lived there.

I’m from Gutierrez and Geminez,

But I never learned their language of love.

I’m from Van Scoy and Wehr,
Who taught me what love looked like—
even if they didn’t give me my DNA.

But above it all…

> I am from the God who doesn’t make mistakes with stories—
Even the complicated, tear-stained, crumpled-up chapters
get rewritten by grace.

I used to wonder if not knowing “where I came from” meant I was incomplete.

Now I know:

>I came from God.
And everyone else was just a delivery system.

My names may have changed—
but the One who formed me never did.

So yes, my paperwork may be messy.

But my soul?
Claimed.
Signed.
Stamped.
Sealed with blood and mercy.
~marty

📖 Scripture Reflection:
“To all who did receive Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to
become children of God.”

— John 1:12