I read a story shared on The Crunk Feminist Collective about a woman who meets her sister for the first time on Facebook. Reading this story, all I could think was, 'WOW, What a blessing!'
I've never met my father. Throughout my life I've been told the story of how he met my mother, why he didn't stay. I knew he had a 'real' family and a 'real' daughter out there in the world — probably right there with him. But all I ever had was his name. A super generic, million just like it, pointless to google, name.
I'm embarrassed to say how long I waited for him to show up. I'm ashamed of how many times I stood on stages for award ceremonies, graduations, spelling bees scanning the audience for an eerily familiar face and an instant connection.
I can't tell you how much not having a father has impacted my life, but I will confess it's a very sensitive subject. Despite how much I've always wanted to meet my father, there's one person I would have liked to meet more — his 'real' daughter.
As a young girl, I loved her instantly, from the moment my mother told me she existed. It was a passing comment for my mother — one small detail she could give her desperate for information daughter. But for me it was a revelation. Somewhere out there I had a big sister. One day we would meet, talk, laugh — create our own family. It was a beautiful dream.
As an adolescent, I envied her. I imagined she must be smart, beautiful and extremely successful, that my father could be satisfied enough to not come looking for me. Only a massive failure, or perhaps a failed organ would ever move him to look for me. Surely he saw the early signs of inferiority when he first laid eyes on me as an infant. Next to my perfect sister, I reasoned, he saw no use for me in his life.
And now as an adult, I still have my sister on a floating pedestal. She's now my phantom opponent. Instead of envying her, however, my efforts have been turned to out-doing her. I guess a part of me hopes that if he ever does track me down, my success will make him wish he'd thought better of abandoning me all those years ago.
So reading this story about a woman who knew her father, but had never met her half-sister, I felt extremely connected. There's something about knowing there's a person out there who might look a little like you, or be able to tell you things about your father that your mother can't — there's something truly beautiful about that. There's a connection I feel with her, that she may not even know about.
I pray that through the Blood of Jesus I will be blessed enough to find my blood-bonded lost ones someday and reading that account of it working out for one woman gave me a little hope that it could happen for me.
While I wait on my blessing, however, I'll pray that the pain and envy that have come with the rejection of not knowing my father be washed away with the same blood that will bring us together.
And in case you happen to stumble upon this blog Mr. Timothy Carter, you (or your daughter) can find me whenever you want. I'm just a click away.