Three years ago I was told that the man who raised me was not my father.
I was 38 years old at the time, and it was a younger brother who told me, rather than my mom. When I was told, it was Memorial Day weekend. My mom lived 2000 miles away at the time, and we kept in contact by email. I went all weekend without asking her about it. I was hurt, upset, and very much confused. I couldn’t understand why my two younger brothers would know before me.
That Tuesday, I went to work and talked to a few people and got some opinions on how to handle this new trial that God had handed to me. I had some people tell me to pursue it and find him, and I had other people tell me to forget it because I had a good childhood. See, about eleven years ago we lost the man that raised me and that was why people were telling me to forget it– because they knew how important the man was to me. He was a good dad.
I asked my mom about it, and she verified that the man who raised me was not my biological father. She also, in her own way, helped me to find him. To make a long story short, I found him within a month and a half.
My birthdad had lost his wife two years before, so both of my parents were single. They met again for the first time in almost 40 years when they both came to my home for my child’s sixteenth birthday party. A few months later, in October, he traveled to my mom’s house, helped her pack all her stuff, and moved her 3000 miles to be with him. They got married the next month.
I just want people to know that great things can happen if you have faith in our Lord. I felt at peace through the whole ordeal. I know I did the right thing and am overjoyed to have found my birthfather. Keep the faith.
