Finding My Father

Fathers have a profound impact on us. When Kevin, the author, was a kid his father was the pastor of a dynamic church in southern California. As a kid he wanted to be just like his dad, until the day his life was ripped apart when a lady violently broke into their home and left his mom for dead, after assaulting her with a led pipe and shooting her several times. But nothing could have prepared him for the devastating news that it was his father behind the whole thing. - This is where Finding My Father begins.

The story is told from three intertwined points of view.  The first is the unfolding of his childhood and the unending miracles and memories of how God never let go of him through the hard times and destructive behavior, even when he couldn’t see his heavenly Father.

The second takes place from a horrific prison experience where he reflects on his childhood after being  detained by a hostile government while crossing international borders on a business trip, which put him face to face with prison gangs, a riot, and terrifying captors.

The third peels back the supernatural veil exposing a battle waging for his soul between warring creatures and the power of light, his heavenly Father.
Based on a true story Finding My Father takes the reader on a journey from the father who caused the scars, to the one who heals them.

Concealed Betrayal
Quietly from the dead of night, in a suburb on the outskirts of a Southern California City something sinister slowly crossed the threshold of a once secure residence. The tumblers of the lock clicked into place by the prideful choices of a deceived leader. An evil presence cautiously stepped into the family room leading a human accomplice in tow. Darkness filled every crevasse of the room as evil spilled in. Unaware of the ominous creature or the human accomplice edging quietly closer, an innocent mother slumbered quietly seemingly safe in her room. A long shadow grew down the hallway as the evil force closed in to clinch its victory.
Darkness continued to claim so many families from this community that once again drama would be played out in the morning news. The event would merely be glanced at in passing by most. The pain of the beating that would be dealt to this sleeping mom would be far greater than the steel pipe and shot gun rounds that would become the focus of media personalities.
This mom was not just meant to be left for dead; the plan was to bring destructive blows to a family once sheltered from this type of violence, a family steeped in an unseen battle and a pillar for many.
Many would ask why, why here, why to a family like this? Some would conjure up a reasonable explanation that would allow them to sleep at night. Others would fall on their knees and pray.  A few would recognize the signs and see the unseen battle that waged around all of those born of this earth. 
The never-ending shadow engulfed everything in its path as it drew the human intruder down the hall to the bedroom where the sleeping body rested peacefully unaware. Standing silently in the darkness of the doorway, the accomplice allowed the evil presence escorting her to take control.
The sinister presence took power over the accomplice by invitation, not by force. The accomplice reached for the weapons that accompanied her and executed the maliciously prepared plan of evil. Armed with a pipe and shotgun the accomplice viciously attacked the unsuspecting mother. 
The events were unforeseen by human perception but the moment wasn’t spontaneous. That moment was the culmination of small seeds that grew into weeds over months, even years before this deed took place. Although a sinister force of darkness walked the accomplice through the dark of that night, the deception involved the fall of an even more profoundly deceived leader in the war against darkness of the paranormal variety.
In the seemingly safe place I called home my mom was beaten and left for dead by an unthinkable act of evil. The act would devastate any family, but the actions cut deeper than just the act. The actions sliced through many in our community and ravaged some for a lifetime because of who the act came from.  The one who opened the lock and gave away the key to our lives, invited the accomplice and sinister force into our home. The one I idolized and wanted to be like took my life at age nine and crushed my soul. But most of all, this person took away my father and my hopes and my dreams. Or so I thought. 
***

Staring at a cold reinforced wall from a concrete bunk I had nothing but time to contemplate my life.  Time became senseless in that overcrowded cell. Flooded with flicking stale orange light, the bare chamber was motionless. The overwhelming forces of my life raced through my mind over and over again questioning everything that had ever happened and everything I’d ever done over the past four and a half decades. It was easy to question my decisions, every single one of them, and blame myself a million times an hour when my family was at stake and a piece of me was missing. The question that was never far from the corner of my mind was why God, why? Emotions rushed in as self blame and the “what-if” game began to play. I had done so many wrong things in my life. My stubbornness and fears that drove me against God’s will echoed endlessly in my head. I felt that everything was my fault. Could I have done something better, and if I did would I have been in that cell? I would have done anything to get my life back and to break free of that dungeon.
Luxuries became simple desires like sunlight or a pillow to lay my head on. A toothbrush or a change of clothes became coveted fantasies. Things that once seemed so simple that I took for granted became faint memories. I wondered if I would ever see the sky or feel the warmth of a blanket from a real bed. After a few moments of contemplation my thoughts would return to what I really missed the most.
I would have given up every luxury in life, every right I thought I had, every entitlement or breath of fresh air, if only I could have my family back and be right with the God of this universe one more time.   
The trauma of what happened pierced deep into my mind like a bizarre nightmare that wouldn’t go away. My wrists were still numb and chafed from the cold steel that cut off my circulation while I was manhandled like some terrorist or bad-guy being paraded through the Los Angeles International Airport. All I could think was: “This really isn’t happening”. My worst fears kept taking me back to my wife and my kids. Who would take care of them? How would they survive? Would I ever see the light of day again? Or would I become a captive in this prison like some third world country and be lost forever? I yearned for a clock or a watch or anything in that cage that could tell time. I often wondered if it was day or night. Time seemed to lose its way in that stale orange haze.
Between the monotonous flickering of the lights one of the inmates would occasionally mumble something. It wasn’t the kind of place where conversations started easily, but with the extreme overcrowded conditions you couldn’t utter a sound without everyone being aware. Most of the guys in the room were barely of legal age. The cell was filled with tattooed young men lying on concrete bunks endlessly staring at the bunk stacked above them. Some would take the only bedding provided, a thin sheet, and cover themselves as if dead. Others rolled up the sheet in an attempt to make a diminutive head rest.
***

In the Southern California city where we lived my dad was the leader of a sizable church. People loved my dad and looked up