06/09/2026
Please tell me there’s still room in her heart for the first man who was the love of her life—the one she trusted. The superhero who saved the day. The one who held her when she bruised her knee and prayed with her each night to the God who would never fail her.
I told her the Bible stories and showed her how faith is lived out. I held tightly to my convictions, knowing that I would help define every man she would meet. I taught her by loving her mother every day. She saw us talk through disagreements and, at times, argue so passionately that hurtful words were spoken. She also saw what forgiveness in Jesus looks like when we humbled ourselves and apologized to one another.
We taught her that families sometimes get upset, but we stay together when things get difficult. We showed her how she should be treated and respected. We gave her the safety of a home where she could grow into the person God created her to be—a young woman who chooses wisely and becomes a light that brings hope to others. We wanted her to know her value, that she is “fearfully and wonderfully made” in the sight of God.
That was when she was younger.
Then something changed.
She grew into a teenager with a mind of her own. Truthfully, I encouraged that. I prayed she would become independent, strong, and kind. She wasn’t difficult; she simply saw the world a little differently than her dad.
What challenged me most wasn’t raising her—it was fighting my own internal battles. I wrestled with feelings of failure. I worried I wasn’t being a good father. I couldn’t always find the right words or do the right things, and I no longer felt like the hero I once was in her eyes.
Yet there was always a voice reminding me to hold on. Don’t give up.
It reminded me of Galatians 6:9: “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
I came close—many times—to giving up. Real close.
It wasn’t easy raising the girl who held my heart. I carried so many worries, but I pushed them down because she still needed me. I needed to be the constant in her life—the one who would always be there when she called.
And oh, how good it felt to still be needed.
We built things together. We farmed together. We showed cattle together, cooked together, and laughed together, still.
Thank You, God, still.
Those teenage years were a roller coaster for me. I can only imagine how difficult they were for her. She was growing from a little girl into a young woman, and that is no small thing.
Thank God for her mother.!
Looking back now, I realize the problem was often me. I needed to be okay with not having all the answers. I needed to stop fearing failure. Maybe, just maybe, I needed to spend less time trying to fix things and more time listening.
And building.
The things she needed built. The backbreaking projects. The long days. The countless hours.
But I did them.
That’s what you do for the one who holds your heart.
I once heard that children lose their minds as teenagers and get them back sometime in their twenties. Some sooner, some much later.
Well, I can honestly say I think that’s happening.
Every now and then my daughter thanks me. She tells me she’s grateful for how she was raised and for being allowed to make decisions on her own.
That’s the magic of parenting. You give your children choices while gently guiding them toward the right ones. You help them feel empowered while quietly protecting them from mistakes they aren’t ready to make. Perhaps that’s one of parenting’s little secrets.
As she spoke those words, I watched her entire life flash before my eyes.
I saw her again for the first time.
The day she was born.
Her skin was pink. Her dark hair was long. Her eyes were dark too. The doctor lifted her in my direction, and our eyes met. She stopped crying.
And like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes.
Then I saw her riding her first bike. Leading her first calf. Throwing her first ball. Driving for the very first time.
As those memories rushed through my mind, a warmth filled my chest that could only come from a job well done.
My heart smiled.
You know, I’ve grown up while raising my little girl.
I know every expression on her face. I’ve been reading it since the day she was born. I know the sound of her voice when she’s happy and when she’s hurting. I notice the silence when something is troubling her. There’s a subtle shift, a quiet frequency that only a father can hear.
There is so much woven into the privilege of having a daughter.
And now I’m beginning to see the fruits of my labor.
Just as God promised.
I’m so grateful I didn’t give up.
Thank You, Jesus—the Author and Finisher of my faith.
Thank you to family, friends, mentors, and to my incredible wife. I have learned so much from the people God placed in my life. It truly takes a village to raise a child.
Because of that village, and by God’s grace, I am watching the harvest come.
I’m her dad, and she is my daughter.
Our hearts are connected—always.
I still have breath in my lungs.
And I’m not finished yet.
I am grateful that I still hold a piece of her heart. I treasure it.
I have it.
Thank God.
I still have it.
