One of my biggest heroes in life is my dad.
Growing up, I don’t often remember moments where he took me aside and gave me a lecture or a lesson on life. Not very often did we have deep conversations about philosophy or what this life is all about.
But relentlessly and consistently, he had those conversations with me—not verbally, but in the way he lived.
So much he did not say, but so much did he show.
I cannot read 1 Timothy 4:12 without thinking of my dad. He was an example of personal faithfulness, generosity, and someone who was not afraid to confront life with steadfast faith.
My dad accepted Christ in adulthood. As he would describe it, he had a lot of broken ideas about religion and faith. Though there was a lot of sanctification still to be done, once he accepted Christ, he was all in.
And “all in” has been his heartbeat ever since.
I do not recall a church service my dad was reluctant to attend. If the doors were unlocked, we were there. Church was of utmost importance—a non-negotiable priority.
As a young child, I watched my dad love the church. I watched him be faithful when no one else was around to see it.
It was not a show he put on when people were around. It was simply the heartbeat of who he was.
Faithfulness looked like years of leading ministries, pouring into others, and not worrying about getting credit or affirmation.
I remember being at the church late and watching my dad clean up after a youth activity. Mopping the floors, taking out the trash, and setting up chairs for Sunday service.
Did anyone see him do this?
Did anyone see the impact of his faithfulness?
Maybe not.
But I did.
I saw it, and it made a lasting imprint on my life.
He never had to tell me to be faithful because his life demonstrated it louder than his words ever could.
Jesus said, “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”
Looking back, I think that is exactly what I saw in my dad. His time, energy, and attention consistently showed me what he treasured.
Sometimes, even at his own expense, my dad was incredibly generous. We did not grow up wealthy or privileged financially, but my dad always prioritized others and the church.
Faithful to give.
Faithful to go above and beyond.
Faithful to serve.
Faithful to give of himself.
This giving wasn’t just seen inside the church walls.
I remember one evening when my dad pulled into the driveway, just getting home from work, and saw our neighbor, Mr. Brett, in his front yard. Now, this wasn’t unusual. Mr. Brett was always in his yard, meticulously making sure his lawn was perfect like a golf course.
As I often did, I ran out to greet my dad.
But instead of going inside, he noticed Mr. Brett was in the middle of an irrigation project, and thunder was rumbling in the background.
Without hesitation, still in his Dockers and white dress shirt, my dad went over to help Mr. Brett.
Before long, he was soaking wet and muddy in the middle of the storm.
It was a small act, but it demonstrated the larger perspective my father had:
Others first. His comfort and convenience second.
Through all that faithfulness and generosity, bad theology might tell you my dad was rewarded with an easy life. No real hardships. No painful seasons. Just blessing after blessing.
But that is not his story.
There has been loss, brokenness, being taken for granted, being overlooked, and even seasons of great challenge.
Through it all, I watched my dad walk with steadfast faith.
August 2005. Hurricane Katrina.
Boy, was this one of those challenges that shook my family.
We took in our extended family—15+ people squeezed into a 1,800-square-foot house. Family homes were destroyed, and the fog of the future was thick.
I remember, as a young boy, hearing conversations I probably should not have heard. Conversations about finances. How are we going to help support everyone? What if this happens? What if that happens?
The tension was heavy.
During one of those conversations, my mom and dad were in the garage completely stressed. I was watching them from the window, worried and concerned. Their conversation was filled with stress about anything and everything.
Then my dad looked at my mom with so much confidence and determination and said, “I don’t know how, but we will get through this. We will have food. We will pay the bills. We will help in any way we can. We must trust God.”
Thinking back on that moment now as a 32-year-old man, I can sense that my dad had zero answers when he said those words.
But he had a whole lot of faith.
His steadfastness settled the heart of my mother, but it also calmed the anxious child watching from the window.
Even recently, he received a call he was not expecting and was laid off.
His response?
“We will pray. We will wait. And God will do what God will do.”
Steadfast faith that overflows and helps stabilize the people around him.
My dad never sat me down and told me to be faithful.
He never gave me a lecture on generosity.
He never explained what steadfast faith should look like when life gets hard.
He just lived it.
And I was watching.
Now, as a grown man trying to navigate and figure out life, I often think about what I have seen and what I have been shown.
When life is ordinary and mundane, there is no question but to be faithful to what matters.
When I have an opportunity to look beyond myself and think of others, I remember generosity.
When life gets difficult, full of disappointments and hard left hooks, I remind myself that I must be steadfast and hold onto faith.
Not just for myself, but for the people around me who are watching.
For my wife to be comforted by steadfast faith in the midst of turbulence.
For the tender heart of my daughter to be settled when she senses life’s unfair blows.
I am walking a path left by the way my father lived.
The question I now carry is whether I will leave a blazed trail of faith for my girls—not simply by what I say, but by how I live.
My dad never had to tell me. I was watching.
And now, so are they.
Stay grounded. Live intentionally. Keep moving.