Photo: Warren Schmidt It was 1954 on the outskirts of a small village. A woman’s shrill voice broke the peacefulness of the cool, spring morning: “If you don’t leave me be, I’ll get rid of this right now.” A string of profanities spewed from her mouth. That is an unusual way to begin a true story. Unfortunately the story does not begin with peace and joy. Months passed. On a hot summer afternoon, the woman cradled in her arms a newborn son. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. It took me many years to understand what the Bible has to say about each one of us being born into sin – something that was clearly demonstrated through the birth of this child. The first few years seemed to pass by quickly, as they do with all infants. It appeared that no matter how hard this child tried to win favour with his parents, he just couldn’t measure up. It appeared that his whole life would be destined to failure. The child was subjected to reams of profanities from both parents, was frequently subjected to various forms of physical abuse and was often caught in the heated, violent arguments about marital unfaithfulness that increased as the child grew. It wasn’t until the boy had reached his early teens that he was convinced that he didn’t belong where he was. Late one summer evening, the boy’s suspicions were confirmed. It was 1:30 on a beautiful moonlit night as he walked home from town. All he could think about was the beating he would get for coming home late. Approaching the house, he could see that all the lights were on. The windows were open, and he could hear them arguing again. Amidst the profanity, he heard his mom shout at his dad, “Why should you care? You’ve been saying all along that he is not your son.” “Well, he isn’t, is he?” retorted his dad. “You don’t even have enough guts to tell your son the truth. You’re just a tramp. Why don’t you pack your bags and leave?” As he slipped away into the lonely darkness of the night, the young man could not stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks no matter how hard he tried. He kept telling himself, “You’re a man. You’re not supposed to cry.” But by the time he fell asleep that night, his face and shirt were wet from his tears. As he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes, all he could think was, “This can’t be happening. This can’t be true. Don’t they care about me? Don’t they love me? Don’t they want me?” Days later, it was announced that the man and the woman would be separating. The woman disappeared down to the coast of B.C., leaving the boy with the man who claimed not to be his father. “We stayed together for your good, at least until you would be old enough to understand,” he was told. The young man wondered sadly if people ever understand such things. Just before the boy reached his 16th birthday, he left home and set off to discover the world. But that world seemed to be confusing and frustrating even for adults. Would there be anyone out there who could save him from his confusion? In his search to belong to something or someone, the young man found himself being sucked into the fast lifestyle that the city offered, getting pulled into a ring of drugs, martial arts and New Age metaphysics. He still did not find out who he was. It wasn’t until he married at age 23 that for the first time he began to experience the feeling of being wanted, belonging, being accepted. Two years went by. He was able to break his drug habit when he gave his life to Jesus Christ to control. A new journey began as he began to discover the healing power in true forgiveness. He grew in his knowledge of God’s Word, the Bible. Early one December morning, while he was preparing to go out of town on business, one of his sons told him of a phone call that he had received the evening before. He did not recognize the caller’s first name. Driving to the airport, the man suddenly recalled who the caller might be. It was the man whom for 14 years he had called Dad. Now very anxious to call, he went to a phone, but at first he was unable to find the courage to make the call. On his second attempt, the phone rang. A stranger’s voice said, “Hello.” The conversation for both men was awkward at first, but as time went on, there was a sense of release from a burden. After over an hour, there finally came the freedom to talk about the issues close to the younger man’s heart. “Are you my father?” There was a brief pause, and then a brief answer: “No, I am not.” “Do you know who is my father?” “No.” Then, the younger man asked if the older man would forgive him for all the years of grief that he may have caused. Before hanging up the phone, the two agreed to get together at a later date. Today many people are going through life not really knowing who they are, with broken hearts and wounded spirits. Do you really know to whom you belong? We owe it to ourselves to consider the words of the Bible: “Keep me safe, O God, for in You I take refuge. . . . You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy in Your presence” (Psalm 16:1, 11). The young man never found out who his father was, but he found out who his heavenly Father is. At last, he knew to whom he belonged. Kirk Ward lives in Chilliwack, B.C.

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