Debra’s Story:
Find him on Facebook.
I knew exactly who God was nudging me to find.
“No… no, Lord, please!” I begged. “That’s the one thing I swore I’d never do.”
Just trust Me here.
I sat dumbstruck, reflecting on yesterday’s inner-healing session. The leader identified a stronghold of shame that began 26 years ago. I had been walking with the Lord for over 20 years, and I knew He had forgiven me for continuing to hide the truth. But as long as my secret remained hidden, I was needlessly choosing shame. When I finally confessed my secret aloud to the team, I felt free.
Now the Lord wanted me to experience further healing. But would I be willing?
I couldn’t ignore God after all those grief-soaked nights He had held me together. Nights I railed. Cussed. Punched pillows and sobbed until my chest hurt. I had lain on my bathroom floor, covering the place where my husband had died. I had defied Jesus to bring anything good from this living hell.
His response was to draw me closer, assuring me that nothing I said or did would ever faze His heart.
My hand shook as I opened the phone app. Never once had I searched his name, hoping to bury my memories, but I had never forgotten Richard.
I scrolled through the faces of men who shared his name until I gasped. “Those are his eyes.”
I enlarged the profile photo until his ice-blue eyes filled the screen and my heart.
My oldest son’s eyes.
The sweet boy I had stolen from his biological father Richard—a kind, noble man whose love I had spurned.
I was afraid of and wounded by men before Richard. Because I was a witch, in deep with the occult and even deeper in danger from former “friends” who were targeting me. I left Richard with no goodbye and no explanation, believing I was doing him a favor.
In my desperate need for protection, I opted instead for the company of Dean, a man of more cunning and fewer scruples but well-versed in the witchcraft I was battling to leave behind.
When I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later, I told my mother. Our relationship was shaky at best, so she asked carefully if I would abort.
“I don’t have a job, a car … no money at all,” I said across our shared booth in Arby’s. “All I do know is I’m having this baby.”
I told Dean the doctor was certain of my pregnancy progress—the baby couldn’t be his. Regardless, Dean chose to put his name on the birth certificate, claiming to be the father of our son.
Dean and I eventually welcomed three more children—two more boys and a girl—before surrendering our lives to Christ. In 2003, we got married in the little country church where I had been baptized only three months before. After 20 years of marriage, Dean died of a heart attack.
In many ways, the Lord had redeemed our marriage after its shaky start. Now that my mom and Dean were gone, my secret was safe. Or so I thought.
All the awful things Richard could say… would be true. I’d never be able to apologize enough.
Yet God prodded, Just trust Me here.
I grabbed my phone, opened Richard’s profile, and typed this message quickly, as if taking dictation:
“Hello, Richard. My name is Debra, and I am searching for a Richard who lived in Austin, Texas, in 1997. You bear a strong resemblance … My intention is not to cause discord but to apologize and ask his forgiveness. If you are not, please pardon this intrusion. Thank you for your time. Blessings.”
Within two hours, Richard responded. He was the man I knew. He was a truck driver, divorced with two kids, and a Christian believer. He was shocked and pleasantly surprised to hear that I was one, too.
I texted,
“Richard, you are a good man. You were back then, and I can tell you are still. But I was selfish, irrational, and heartless. You were the perfect gentleman, and you did not deserve how I treated you. I certainly don’t deserve it, but I’m asking anyway. Would you please forgive me?”
Without hesitation, Richard replied.
“Of course I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago. I still remember you fondly. I must have selective memory.”
For five days, we texted non-stop, sharing our lives and remembering what had first attracted us to one another. Our conversations were deep, open, and effortless. We had yet to speak on the phone, but it became clear we both wanted to meet again. It was time to tell Richard the rest of the story.
That night, I went to worship with our small group. I sat on the floor and wept into the seat of my chair, whispering, “What now, Lord? I’m scared.”
Through my tears, I knew God was saying clearly, It’s time. Tell him now.
Did I hear right? I should tell him in a text?!
I went into another room and messaged Richard. He answered from a truck stop in Colby, Kansas, while eating sweet-and-sour chicken.
“There’s something the Lord wants me to tell you.” Then I sent him a photo of a young man.
“Who’s that?” Richard texted.
“His name is Nicholas. He’s 25 years old this month. He’s my son,” I texted. “And I’m very certain that he’s yours, too.”
Seconds stretched. Then my phone chimed with another text.
“Let’s do a DNA test and make certain. I would love to have another son.”
No anger! Lord, this is a miracle.
But I wasn’t done. “Okay, brace yourself,” I texted.
“There’s more?” he asked back.
Then I shot him a photo of Ruby, Nick’s two-year-old daughter.
“And you’re a grandpa.”
I thought that telling Richard would be the hardest conversation of my life, but it wasn’t. It was telling Nick. I held his hands as he cried heavy, silent tears. He said only two things.
“Mom, why now?”
I had to reply honestly. “I really don’t know. All I know is that Jesus said to.”
And second, “I wish Dad were here so that I could thank him.” That would’ve made Dean smile.
Later on, my daughter told me she and Nick were days away from submitting saliva samples to 23andMe, an online genetic testing company which connects people with others of matching DNA. Richard’s mother was in the 23andMe database. My secret was coming out, with or without my cooperation.
In His kindness, Jesus made revealing the truth, though difficult, not devastating.
Just trust Me here. Every day, I thank Jesus I trusted Him. I thank Him for the pain that forged my intimacy with Him. For His triumph over my demons of fear and shame. I thank Him for second chances. For bringing a man back into my life whose presence reminds me daily of God’s immense love and forgiveness.
Recently Richard and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary. We are both witnesses to the truth of Psalm 37:4: “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”
