Before he died, my dad left one treasure for me to find. Without a map for guidance, I needed providence and social media on my journey to discovery.
My father’s life was not scripted for a bookstore’s family section. After attending the University of Florida, his world, including his relationships, turned upside down. In the late 1950s, he and his wife, Hilda, had a son, David. After a few years, they divorced. My dad lost contact with David. Hilda remarried. The rest became a well-kept family secret.
Working in his brother’s accounting practice, my dad met my mother. They married in 1970; I was born in 1972. While innocently flipping through a photo album as a child, I discovered a picture of a boy resembling Dad and me. The long-buried secret was open, but the mystery endured. My father died in 1983; my mother did not remarry, and my half-brother became the subject of much discussion and speculation. Dad’s brothers began searching for David, but every road turned down a blind alley.
Upon moving to Knoxville five years ago, I resumed the search. Closer to my family of origin, I felt I had a chance of locating my half-brother. In December 2007, I shared with my church a bit of Dad’s past and my family’s odyssey to explain how God’s providence works with divorce, redemption, and healing.
A strange series of coincidences followed. Two weeks later, I received a call from North Carolina. A critically ill great uncle, who had not heard the sermon, wanted to meet his “preacher great nephew” and give me pictures of my half-brother, Dad, and Hilda. Before I had time for a visit, my great uncle and his wife died; I never received the pictures. Yet I chose to view this experience as a sign I was getting closer, a reminder to be faithful in my search. Turning to the social-media network Facebook, I posted family tree information and waited. Occasionally, I googled my last name, checked ancestor.com, and hoped.
On October 2, 2009, I received an email from David Andrews, a pathologist in Miami, which read: “I am most certainly your half-brother David, son of Hilda, our father’s first wife.” On a whim the night before, he googled David Shiell, landed on my Facebook family tree, and discovered a half-brother he never knew existed. Our stories are remarkably similar, only 15 years apart. He’s 52; I’m 37. We were only children; we completed doctoral degrees; we have two sons.
When his mother remarried, his stepfather adopted him when he was 12 and sealed the adoption, locking away his “Shiell” heritage. His mother and stepfather never had children, and David has one memory of our father when he was four.
Most stories like ours do not have fairy-tale endings. Just because people are related does not necessarily mean they want to be family. Our case is different. Two weeks later, I flew to Miami and had my first sleepover at my big brother’s house. He would have never been found if David had not reached out to me. And somehow, I think if my uncles and I had not looked faithfully, he would not have found me. To me, that’s providence: our faithfulness, God’s timing, and the surprises of social media and grace. This treasure, named David, courageously unlocked the mystery and found a relationship.