Father’s Day feels extra special this year.
For the first time, we are celebrating our son as a father.
As I sit and reflect on all that has happened over the past year, I find myself overwhelmed by the goodness of God and by the beauty of watching one generation quietly pass faithfulness to the next.
This Father’s Day, our eyes naturally drift toward a little boy who changed all of our lives.
A tiny miracle born at twenty-nine weeks, weighing only one pound and fifteen ounces.
A baby so small he fit into the hands of people who loved him desperately.
The day he arrived, all of us were thrust into a season none of us had anticipated.
Parenthood suddenly expanded into grandparenthood.
Fear mingled with hope.
Prayers became more urgent.
Every ounce gained felt like a victory.
Every good report felt like a gift directly from heaven.
And through it all, we watched our son become a father.
Only twenty-one years old.
Newly married.
A wife facing serious health challenges of her own.
A tiny son fighting for every milestone.
Yet we watched him rise to the occasion with a quiet strength that cannot be manufactured.
Long before sunrise, he would leave home so he could spend time beside his little boy’s incubator before work.
After working a full day, he would drive straight to Bible college, spending four hours each evening finishing the final year of his degree. When classes ended, he often returned to the NICU before finally going home for a few short hours of sleep.
Then he would wake and do it all again.
Day after day.
Week after week.
Month after month.
There were no grand speeches.
No complaints.
No demands for recognition.
Just quiet faithfulness.
Then came the day every family in the NICU longs for.
The day that precious little boy finally came home.
What a glorious day that was.
There were still challenges ahead.
Oxygen support.
Medical concerns.
Sleepless nights.
New responsibilities.
Yet watching our son and his beautiful wife settle into their little home and embrace motherhood and fatherhood with courage and tenderness filled my heart with gratitude.
As I watched him through this season, I found myself thinking something over and over again.
I have seen this before.
I have seen this kind of man before.
I have seen this quiet sacrifice.
This quiet provision.
This quiet willingness to do whatever needs to be done regardless of personal cost.
I have watched it for twenty-four years.
Our children watched their father work two and three jobs when necessary to provide for his family.
They watched him show up when he was tired.
They watched him walk through the front door carrying burdens they were too young to understand, only to immediately become husband and father again.
They watched him faithfully sit in church three times a week, even on evenings when exhaustion surely weighed heavily upon him.
They watched him gather the family before bed to sing “How Firm a Foundation,” open the Word of God, and lead us in devotions.
They watched him include each of them as he choose a “special prayer person” each night so the children could learn to pray for others.
They watched him hold buckets and rub backs during stomach viruses.
They watched him dispense medicine in the middle of the night when fevers rose.
They watched him bring flowers home for his girls, and their mama.
They watched him create silly adventures for his boys.
They watched him let children drive Hot Wheels cars across his back while he turned ordinary evenings into memories they still talk about today.
Most importantly, they watched him love.
They watched him love me.
They watched him prioritize our marriage.
They watched him fail at times, admit it, and get back up again.
They watched him ask forgiveness.
They watched him remain faithful.
And now, all these years later, I see those same roots growing in our son.
The tree is bearing fruit.
The things planted years ago are blossoming in a new generation.
Today there are two fathers beneath our roof.
One who spent decades faithfully pouring himself out for his family.
Another who has just begun the journey.
And sitting between them is a little boy who, God willing, will spend the coming years watching both.
He will watch his daddy rise early, work hard, love his wife, care for his children, serve the Lord, and remain faithful through life’s ordinary demands.
He will watch his papa continue loving, serving, giving, praying, and showing up for the family God has built around him.
And perhaps one day, many years from now, another little boy will watch him do the same.
That is the beauty of faithfulness.
It multiplies.
It stretches across generations.
It writes stories that continue long after the original chapters are finished.
As I look around at this family God has built, I find myself deeply aware that every part of it bears His fingerprints.
The roads that led us to North Dakota.
The church family that helped shape us.
The trials that strengthened us.
The victories that humbled us.
The prayers that were answered.
The prayers that were not.
The children who grew up and launched into lives of their own.
The spouses God brought into their stories.
The grandson now crawling through ours.
Every chapter carries evidence of a faithful God.
And today, on Father’s Day, my heart is simply full.
Full of gratitude.
Full of wonder.
Full of joy.
For twenty-four years, I have had the privilege of parenting beside a good man.
Twenty-four years of living this messy, beautiful, loud, chaotic, perfectly imperfect life.
Now I have the privilege of watching our children begin their own journeys into marriage and parenthood.
The story is changing.
The seasons are changing.
The family is growing.
And through it all, the goodness of God remains.
My cup truly runneth over.
And I cannot wait to see what He writes next.
Happy Father’s Day to the man who’s been there through it all.
Love,
Yours forever
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