Dad,
I don’t say this enough, and maybe I never have, at least not in a way that truly does justice to what I mean. But I want you to hear it now, plainly, without pretense or hesitation:
Thank you.
Not just for raising me, not just for providing for me, not just for the million small sacrifices that I probably never even noticed as a child. Thank you for showing me what it means to be strong without cruelty, kind without weakness, faithful without arrogance, and steadfast even when the world tried to shake you.
They say that our image of God is inevitably shaped by our fathers. And if that’s true, then it’s because of you that I’ve always believed in a God who is loving, patient, and just. A God who doesn’t cast aside the broken, the questioning, or the struggling. A God who doesn’t demand blind obedience, but instead asks us to wrestle with truth, to seek understanding, and to live with integrity, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
I remember the stories you told me of Jesus, the words of the Savior that you preached, but more than that, I remember the example you set when the institution you served turned its back on you. You didn’t become bitter. You didn’t abandon your faith, though you had every right to feel betrayed. Instead, you lived it, more authentically than any sermon ever could. When the world told you that your work no longer had value, you didn’t give up. You carried on. You rebuilt. You kept moving forward. And in doing so, you taught me what it truly means to be a man.
Not the version the world tries to sell us, loud, angry, selfish, afraid to admit pain or doubt. But a real man. One who doesn’t run from hardship but meets it with quiet strength. One who isn’t ruled by pride but is willing to humble himself for the sake of love. One who knows that righteousness isn’t in how loudly you proclaim your faith, but in how you live it when no one is watching.
Everything I stand for, every word I write, every fight I take up, every time I choose to speak up for what is right instead of staying silent, it’s all built on the foundation you laid. If anything I do ever matters, if any change comes from the words I put into the world, it will be because you lit that fire in me.
I remember you leading me in singing This Little Light of Mine when I was a child. Back then, it was just a song. A simple melody, a few verses, something to make a kid smile. But I see now that it was a lesson. A challenge. A promise.
And I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry that for so long, I let my light stay hidden. I let fear, doubt, and the weight of this world’s darkness keep me from holding it high. But I won’t anymore. I can’t.
You taught me better than that.
Now, I will let it shine.
I will set the world on fire with the torch you placed in my hands.
Thank you for everything. I love you.
Your son,
Ron