Timothy Kline: Thoughts and Reflections

A storm is approaching

Having been back in contact with my daughters since October 24 of this year, after having been separated for some 19 years, it’s been a rollercoaster, to say the least. Putting the pieces together, trying to figure out how to rebuild a relationship and understanding the dynamics involved on an emotional, psychological and inter-relational level. They have, after all, grown up in a different family and that has played a significant role in the situation. While I have always and will always think of them as my daughters—and they feel that I am their father—it’s unrealistic to expect there to be that father-daughter bond that develops throughout a lifetime of togetherness. And yet they are my daughters whom I love beyond words—flesh of my flesh, bones of my bones. They are as much a part of me as the two sons I have raised since then.

But where does the physical/biological aspect of this part ways from the emotional aspect of it? In other words, they are my daughters on a biological level, but are they my daughters in the familial sense? Does my love for them stem from the biological connection that we have, or is it something deeper than that, transcending into the spiritual and emotional sense? This is the part that I find most perplexing. Is the love I have for them tied to the memories I have of them from 19 years ago—their smiling faces, their tears, their triumphs and their frustrations? Is my love and attachment to them tied to daughters who, in a social and intellectual sense, no longer exist because they grew up within the context of an adoptive family, and therefore are not the same daughters they would have become had I been allowed to raise, father, and nurture them to adulthood.

These are difficult, deep questions that nobody can be prepared for when faced with the blessing of reunification after an adoption has taken place. They are questions that I wrangle through every day, trying to be honest with myself and hard in my self-assessment during this process. And at this point, I really do not know. I feel that they are my daughters. I feel that I love them more than anything. I feel that my being allowed to reunite with them has been a blessing beyond words. And my feelings are real.

But what does that mean, then? Because, I am not really their father in a social or familial sense, having only fathered and nurtured them for a very short time of their life. Their perception of relationships, while formed by their relationship within an adoption family, was also formed by their experiences in life—shaping their world views that in most ways are very dissimilar from mine.  And yet they assure me through their words that they think of me as their father whom they are so happy to have been reunited with—and I am equally overjoyed at having been reunited with them.

And yet, my own life experience has convinced and taught me that one’s relationship with their physical father often shapes their later relationship and perception of God, who is the Father in the heavens. At the same time, many people go through their entire lives never really understanding or enjoying a father-child relationship until they get to know God and He truly becomes their Father. Perhaps that has some bearing in this situation—perhaps it is true that they have always felt this empty place in their life and heart because they were at least old enough to remember me as their loving, often doting father who—in spite of my lack of many important parenting skills which were detrimental to their health and welfare—felt that immense, immeasurable love that a father feels for his beloved children. It was enough of an impression that they are both happy and glad to have reunited with me after all of these years.

Which gives me hope. And yet I’ve lived and breathed hope since the day that they and I were no longer able to see one another. I’ve hoped against the odds, against the despair, against even hope itself at times.

Now, as we try to figure this out and try to build a new relationship, all the while dealing with the issues we have individually faced in our lives, and the trials through which we are enduring at the present time, a new and troubling situation arises… a darkness that is storming on the horizon, threatening and angry and vengeful.

The biological mother has resurfaced just a few days ago, and having conversed with her at length via telephone and online chat, seems intent to create a savage conflict in order to insert herself into their lives once more—after having outright abandoned them long before I finally had to release them. All of my hopes that she had fared well, too, these past 19 years, and that her reunification with the girls would be nothing short of wonderful and awe-inspiring has swiftly changed to one of disconcerting unrest as she engages in threats against me, and the weapon of choice is to claim and convince the girls that I had somehow molested them. Her thinking seems to be that if she can somehow manage to convince someone, and get me put into prison, and remove me from the picture utterly and absolutely, that she will be somehow vindicated for her own misdeeds in regards to her daughters, and then she can have them go away with her. And what is positively mind-boggling is that she is carrying on in all of this hand-wringing and slander while she types to me from her molestor’s residence—whom she has been living with for some time and intends on remaining with. Her own guilt at having had her own testimony being the damning evidence that sent her own father to prison far exceeds the treachery that he bestowed on her from years and years of not only his molesting her, but also allowing neighbors and friends to molest her in exchange for money—all of which is verifiable in her court records.

And now, she is screaming and claiming that I molested the girls, and is absolutely convinced that I should be in prison—even when the evidence has always indicated otherwise. Whether her words are empty threats from afar or not, of course I am concerned about her state of mind, her motivation—which seems to be filled with hate, bitterness, and resentment towards me— as well as the impact this would have on the girls, who have already been through more than their biological mother will ever understand.

There is no question that I have never done such a thing, and I have God Almighty as my witness. I may not have been the best parent at the ripe young age of 17 until 21 (but what young parent IS the best parent at that age, barely out of childhood themselves?). But for anyone who has ever read my blogs here, or my writings in years past, or knows what I have been through—they would know that such an atrocious deed is far beyond my capabilities as a human being. And it kills me that someone, even an angry, vengeful ex-wife who willingly and willfully walked away from me and the girls over 19 years ago for a “better life” with a guy living on the streets without even a second thought or a shed tear would be so capable of spewing such hateful accusations at me in order to somehow break down the bond that I have with my daughters. In effect, they are the collateral in her vendetta against me, a vendetta that shouldn’t be there today because she’s the one that abandoned us, she’s the one that disappeared and never looked back. And yet she has this poisonous knife aimed at the my throat, with the full intention that if the girls don’t accept her unreservedly as their mother, she will cut off my head—because if she can’t have them, then she will never allow me to have them either.

As if life doesn’t have enough of its own drama, battles, and challenges…  this day, my daughters and I are having to deal with this far more evil, demonic situation that has arisen suddenly.

But like I told my daughters yesterday—I am thankful to God on High for allowing them to find me first, and having been able to go through the court records—so that they wouldn’t have to take my word for what happened—and answer their questions, and giving them time to see that I’ve worked hard on my life, to become a better person, a better parent, someone whom they can come to for reassurance, encouragement, and counsel. I’m thankful because it is painfully clear to me now that if Tonda had found them first, there was a very real possibility that she could have—in the absence of the court records and on the basis of what she thinks happened—made it so that they would never have ever wanted to know the man who had once been their father, having been poisoned by the hate, bitterness, and resentment that Tonda has carried all these years towards me to mask over her own self-hate and self-loathing at having been the one whose testimony sent her father to prison for molesting her—when she was the victim, not the perpetrator. But then, that’s how insidious evil works: it convinces the victim that it’s their fault. And it scars them forever after.

But God worked it out so that they did find me first, and I wasted no time in seeing to it that they personally went through the entire court record—answering their questions as they did so—and for the first time in their lives, they discovered that I had never left them, never abandoned them, never stopped fighting for them… and when they were finally taken from me with all sense of finality imposed on me, I did everything in my ability to make sure that they could find me again when the time came, and prayed to God to make it happen.

And God did just that: He made it happen. And He did it early enough to set the foundation in our renewed relationship because He foresaw the time when Tonda would reappear and try to tear it all apart…  and He knew that by giving us that important time to bond (albeit not very long, for the battle was coming fast!), we would be able to withstand the coming storm…

Thank you, Father!