“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” – 1 John 3:1 (NIV)
Father’s Day is a time of celebration. It’s a moment to pause and honor the fathers and father figures who have shaped our lives with strength, love, and wisdom. For many, it’s a joyful day marked with laughter, memories, and great BBQ food. But for others, Father’s Day comes with a quiet ache—a reminder of someone deeply loved and dearly missed.
This year, I find myself sitting in both places—grateful and grieving.
With one hand, I hold so much joy and gratitude for my husband. His patience, gentleness, and playfulness with our two girls fills my heart with peace, warmth, and laughter. I’ve seen how his quiet strength is the glue that holds us together—he keeps us girls grounded (though let’s be honest, a prayer for him every now and then wouldn’t hurt). Watching him love and guide our daughters reminds me daily of the sacred role of fatherhood.
My husband is a living example of what Paul wrote in Ephesians 6:4:
“Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.”
He doesn’t just tell our girls to be kind—he lives it. He teaches them through presence, patience, and prayer. He’s always willing to sit beside them, to comfort them when there are tears, and even to get up and join them during children’s sermons—when most parents, myself included, are content cheering from the pew. His quiet commitment teaches them more about God’s love than a hundred lectures ever could.
My own father was this kind of teacher, too. He never sugarcoated the truth, especially when it came from Scripture. Even when the Bible was hard to hear, he stood on it—not to wound, but to shape us in truth and love. We affectionately called him “Grumpy,” not because he didn’t love us, but because he wore his love in a quiet, sometimes rough-around-the-edges way. His affection came through his music, his cheesy dad jokes, and the steady, grounding gift of his presence. I miss him deeply—especially on days like today—but I carry his wisdom and faith in my heart always.
He was my mentor in faith, a quirky personality, and an inspirational musician. One of his quirks—one I now appreciate more than ever—was his habit of “hoarding” knowledge. Our family inherited boxes of books, movies, and files upon files of his sermons, reflections, and words of wisdom. It’s a true treasure trove. I’m grateful for this obsession, because I now have the privilege of sorting through folder after folder—some dating all the way back to the 1980s.
In 2020, as his health began to decline, we started a podcast together. It gave us something meaningful to focus on during the pandemic, while also strengthening our relationship. I was driven by the thought (and fear) that one day he would no longer be here. I didn’t want to lose his laugh, his smile, his cheesy jokes, or his signature gruffness. During that time, I went through four job changes and had two babies. Through it all, he was patient with my busy life as we transitioned from podcast/audio sessions to outlining two books: Finding God Through Genesis (which you’re reading chapters from now on this blog) and The Book of The Revelation.
It’s bittersweet knowing he completed his final Genesis sermon at the end of 2024—just before he passed. We were so close to finishing the last pieces of the book. Still, the memories, the laughter, the pride we poured into those projects—those can’t be replicated or replaced. I thank God every day for the nudge in 2020 to start something meaningful with my dad.
Like many of you, I know what it means to miss someone on a day like today. We feel the empty chair at the table. We notice the voice that’s no longer offering a prayer before the meal. We ache in the silence where laughter used to echo. These moments remind us of how deep love runs—and how profoundly loss lingers.
Yet in this tender balance of joy and sorrow, I’m reminded of a greater truth: Father’s Day isn’t only about the fathers we’ve had, or the ones we celebrate today—it’s about the Father who has always been with us.
Our Heavenly Father.
He is the one who holds us when the grief is too much to bear. He is the one who rejoices with us in our happiest moments and carries us through the hardest ones. Scripture tells us again and again that God is not distant. He is “a father to the fatherless” (Psalm 68:5). Compassionate. Present. Loving.
Jesus taught us to pray, “Our Father who art in heaven,” not as a formality—but as a relationship. In a world of imperfect fathers, God is perfectly present, perfectly loving, and perfectly faithful.
So today, let us celebrate the fathers in our lives—with gratitude and grace. Let us honor the ones who have gone before us, remembering their love with thankful hearts. Let us cherish the ones who are still with us, acknowledging their strength and sacrifice. And let us look to the One who never leaves, never changes, and never fails.
To my husband: thank you for being a father who leads with humility and love.
To my dad: thank you for the legacy of faith you passed on to me.
To my Heavenly Father: thank You for being my constant source of comfort, wisdom, and love.
If this Father’s Day finds you grieving, know that you are not alone. The God who formed you, loves you. He sees your tears, knows your heart, and walks beside you. If this day finds you celebrating, let your joy be a song of praise to the One who gave us the beautiful gift of family—and the sacred calling of fatherhood.
Happy Father’s Day—on earth and in heaven.
