When Family Dynamics are Messy

I recently discovered that I have two more siblings on my father's side. A sister nine years younger than me and a brother two years behind her. When I saw a picture of my brother, I could see the family resemblance. An odd feeling came over me as I struggled with the knowledge that I have two half-blood relatives somewhere out there.

This feeling isn't new to me. I felt it when I was a kid and my mom would tell us stories about the "first four kids".

When my mom married my dad, she became the step-mother to four children between the ages of 7 and 12. She helped raise each of them until they were out of the house. Once they were gone, my dad allowed her the opportunity to have biological children.

I arrived on the scene in 1983. The house was empty and I was an only child until my sister was born in '85. My brother came along in '87. By 1988, my father and mother had separated and at the tender age of four I began learning what it meant to be the oldest child in a single-parent home.

I never saw my dad after 1988. I wondered about him from time to time. What was he doing? Did he ever think about me? Would I ever encounter him again in my life?

My older sister died at 19 in a car accident. I never got to meet her. But I did get to visit with my three older brothers occasionally until I was nine. The younger of the three had a son the same age as my brother, the one birthed by my mom. We got a kick out of the fact that he was an uncle at birth.

In 1993, my mom decided to move her three kids from the bustling city of San Diego to the rugged hills of Colorado. The culture shock overwhelmed me and I regularly longed for my sunny home city. How in the world would I ever adjust to tumbleweeds and snow?

It was at this same time my father had another daughter and then a son. Three women, nine children, ages 0-34. I am smack dab in the middle at #5. Every day I dig a little deeper, I start to realize how much my story relates to that of our kids and how God was preparing me to parent them.

Our kids may have come to us as a set of three, but their stories are so much more complicated than that. As I walk through the confusion and grief of my own past, I can imagine how challenging it must be for them as they discover a little more each year about who they are and where they come from.

Not growing up with a father took a toll on my identity. I felt abandoned, unimportant, neglected, and lost. I entered my marriage with this identity, and praise God, He brought me a man strong enough to handle my deep emotional struggles.

Last year, my dad died at the age of 77. My mom found out from an email two months after his death. When she told me, I thought, "Well, I guess that finalizes things." I'll never see my father again, unless he miraculously gave his life to Jesus before he died. I must live the rest of my life still not knowing him, and still wondering if he knew Jesus.

Growing up I thought I needed an earthly father to be "normal". I believed I would be better if I had a father of my own at all the school events. Someone to look at me and tell me I'm beautiful no matter what. Someone to tell me that I was totally worth the sacrifice and the love. But I never would have known this had my father been around. He was a lost individual, full of his own childhood struggles that he didn't work through while we were in the picture. I hope he found peace later in life.

If you have lived with an absent father, whether physically absent or emotionally absent, I am so sorry. No child should have to grow up without a father. It breaks my heart knowing the heartache you have suffered as a result of this void.

At 12 years old, I asked God to be a father to me. There was no one else available. Either He would show up or He wouldn't, but I had to know someone cared about me. Good news, He showed up. And not just once, but over and over again!