Who Is My Father?

Ronnie Wolfe
 
After I had left Falmouth, Kentucky, and moved to Lexington, Kentucky, to go to school, I lived in a house where some other men lived. We all had our rooms, and the landlady lived in one section which had a kitchen and a separate bathroom. All of the men had to use the same bathroom, and most of the time there were either three or four men besides myself. I had the whole upstairs to myself, though it was divided into two rooms, and another man could have lived in one room and I in the other. This did not happen the whole year and more that I lived there.

While there, one late evening, while I was sitting on my bed upstairs and probably doing homework, one of the men downstairs came up the steps and spoke to me. Then he sat on the bed beside me. It was only a couple of minutes until he said, "Ronnie, I have some news for you, and I know you will be surprised." I wondered what kind of news he could possibly have for me, so I asked, "What news?"

He looked at me a little strange and said, "Ronnie, I am your real father. You see, when you were young, my wife and I were separated, and you were given for adoption to another couple. I had not seen you since until today. After I learned who you were, I did some research and found that you are my son."

I did not know quite what to say. You might say that I was speechless. He began to go on and on about some of the details of why he was my father, details which now have passed from my memory. It may be so that I did not even listen to his detailed musings, because I was shocked at his sudden revelation.

This would not have been so bad except for the fact that it was true that, when I was growing up at home, we had taken in my first cousin to raise. My mother took him when he was nine months old. I did not find out that he was a cousin until he was about 13 years old. Now I am faced with a possibility that I may also have been "taken in" and that I may be another cousin rather than a brother to those raised around me.

As he talked, I began to contemplate all kinds of things, because I really did not want this man to be my father. Eventually, I looked down at my hands. When I saw my hands, I realized that my hands were almost exactly like my father's hands. I was more like my father than I was like this man who was claiming to be my father--we had nothing in common.

We are children of God, because we have become somewhat like him; and one day we will be like our Lord, Jesus Christ. 1 John 3:2 Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is. There will be no doubting then that we belong to Him. But the question is, "How do we look right now?" Are we like him in our daily living and in our worship? Do we love him as we love our human parents, even more? Are we talking with Him and admiring Him as our Lord and Savior?

I loved my father with a deep love, and I tried to obey him and my mother. I learned a lot from them and wanted to grow up like them.  We should also desire to be like our Father in Heaven even to the point that we may, if not look like him now, at least act as he would act on the earth.

The next morning, as I went to leave for breakfast through the center hall which led to the front door, I noticed the front door open and some men standing around in the hall. I paused to see what was going on, and at that time, two men were walking out with this man who claimed to be my father. They were taking him to a mental hospital. I was saddened, yet relieved, that I still had my same father. I can never lose my real father except in death, and I did in 1970; but I can never, ever lose my Heavenly Father, because he has sealed me with His Holy Spirit.