I was troubled teen. At a young age of 15 I rebelled against my parents and left the life of a missionary kid in Fiji islands to move to Canada for the life that many movies showed was THE life to live. Being that young in an open world all alone is a dangerous place. Before long I found myself doing things I never thought I would, only for the reason of fitting in. Drugs parties and sex were soon a part of my daily living. When I was 17 years old, I found myself in the delivery room with the girl that I was with at the time, giving birth a child while in that moment I was a child myself.
The following day we gathered together in a room as we prepared to give our son away. Across the room from us sat a family we did not know, faces we did not recognize, and the only personality we knew of these people were the personalities that were written down upon a page that was put in front of us months earlier.
I hold tight of the memory of the moment that I stood out of my seat and walked towards this strange man whom had his arms reached out. I placed our baby boy carefully within his arms, and brushed the tears from my face and walked away. But I could not help but feel like I was leaving a piece of myself behind.
I’m not sure how you would take it, for we are all so different in so many ways but let me tell you this. That moment broke me, and as the days continued and the months passed by it continued to get worse. I tried to mask the pain with drugs and alcohol, parties and woman and soon enough the only one at the party was me alone in the basement in the dark weeping and crying suffering from depression.
I moved on and tried money, had more money than a 18 year old boy should ever have. I had the car, toys, and crew, had it all if you were looking from the outside in. But from the inside out, I had nothing. All there was, was emptiness.
I will never forget the time that I was sitting in a pub in fox creek, a small oil town in Alberta, Canada. Drunk and stoned, dirty and tired; when my phone began to ring. The voice on the other side of the line began to speak. He said “Son it is time you come home.” You see I never knew this man but what I did know was that God heard my cry for help. He was not concerned of were I was, the dirty cloths upon my back, the beer that was in my hand, the bag of dope down in my pocket or the shame with in my heart. All he said was “Son, it is time to come home” .
There is a verse Joel 2:25, that talks about how God said that he would restore the years that the locust have been eating. I find this to be true in my own life, God began to paint a beautiful picture. Sara, my wife of 4 years, is the same girl that I had a child with 8 years ago. God took what the devil intended for evil and has made it good. We now have 2 beautiful little girls, Mercy Anne , named after the Mercy God has shown on our lives, and Mikah Rae, which means who is like Yahweh.
We have also been able to have a wonderful relationship with our son, who is now 8 years old and knows who we are and can understand the reason we gave him up and that we truly love him with everything we have. God is so good .
“Tabusoro” – which means “never give up” in Fijian ( the mother tongue of Fiji)
No matter were you may be at, lemme tell you this. THERE IS HOPE, THERE IS HOPE and it is found in Jesus Christ.