My Father Saw My Victory Before I Did Now, I See His - Happy Father's Day

A Father's Day declaration to the men who choose hope over doubt, faith over fear

Today is Father's Day, and if I'm being honest—which is what you're going to get from me—it's been a day of profound reflection. You know, the kind that hits you sideways when you least expect it, leaving you staring at the ceiling wondering how you got so blessed and so broken all at once.

From 2020 until now, my father has survived four strokes.

Four. Let that sink in for a moment while I pause to let the audacity of that number settle. Each time, we held our breath, knowing he could have crossed over to glory. One stroke stripped away his ability to read, write, talk, and handle basic tasks—essentially hitting the reset button on a man who'd spent decades walking the beats of the city that never sleeps, reading situations and people with the kind of precision that comes from years on the job. The most recent one decided to mess with his walking, balance, and motor skills, because the enemy severely miscalculated when he targeted someone who's spent his entire life being unshakably stoic, impossibly stubborn, decisively strategic, and sharp enough to read every situation before others even know what's happening.

Each stroke felt like the enemy's declaration of war, his attempt to write the final chapter of my father's story. But here's where it gets good—and by good, I mean the kind of supernatural, leave-you-speechless, "God really said 'not today, Satan'" kind of good. The Lord has been merciful and faithful, restoring every single thing that was stolen in those dark moments.

He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless.

Now, I haven't talked about this publicly because I'm private like that, and so is my father. Honestly, I still don't know how to talk about one stroke, let alone four. How do you casually mention that your father has been under spiritual assault? In a world that acts like spiritual warfare is some medieval fantasy rather than present-day reality, these conversations don't exactly flow naturally at dinner parties.

But on this Father's Day, beyond my gratitude for the fact that my father is still here, beyond witnessing divine miracles of the Lord's swift healing and restoration in real-time, I want to honor something else entirely: his unwavering faith in me.

Let me paint you a picture of faith that would make the mustard seed blush with inadequacy. My father has believed in me with the kind of consistency that borders on beautiful insanity. Every capability, every talent, every spiritual gift—this man has been my personal cheerleader, complete with pom-poms made of pure belief.

Faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

His faith in me is honestly unfathomable. We're talking Grand Canyon levels of deep here. This man has believed in me when I had less faith in myself than a deflated balloon has air. He's believed in me when others looked at my dreams and quietly wondered if I'd lost my mind. He's believed in me when there was absolutely zero evidence of anything I was chasing actually materializing.

Think about that for a second. My father has literally been a walking, talking demonstration of having hope in things unseen before they became seen.

He called into being things that were not as though they were.

While I was stumbling around in doubt, he was already celebrating victories that existed only in his heart.

The older I get, the more I realize how rare this is. Faith—real, genuine, unwavering faith—isn't something you can purchase on Amazon Prime. You can't demand it from someone like you're ordering at a drive-through. You can't manipulate it out of people or guilt them into it. Faith is a choice, a deliberate, intentional, on-purpose decision to give someone the benefit of the doubt regarding the intangible, the not-yet-materialized, the still-cooking-in-God's-kitchen dreams.

My father's faith has been one of the primary reasons I'm still standing. His belief has been the catalyst for my own faith in God. Watching him believe in what the Almighty has placed in me, what he and my mother planted in me, and his unwavering confidence in the sprouting and blossoming of those things—it's what I'm most grateful for on this Father's Day.

I'll go as far as to say that outside of peace, loyalty, and understanding, faith trumps them all as the greatest gift someone can give you.

Without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.

So, Dad, let me publicly thank you—not just for your faith, but for your belief. Your belief has been the consistency behind your faith. Your belief in me has been the stronghold protecting those mustard seeds of faith you planted. Thank you for never second-guessing yourself, never uprooting those seeds no matter what things looked like or what others whispered behind closed doors.

Your belief in me has given me a front-row seat to understanding what it looks like to believe in God no matter what.

Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness.

You've shown me what that looks like in real life, in real time, through real struggles.

To all the fathers out there with that "foolish" faith in their children—the kind that makes practical people roll their eyes and reasonable people question your sanity—I honor you today. Your faith in your children, the beautiful consistency of that belief, will continue to minister to them long after you've graduated to glory.

Now let me demonstrate the consistency of my faith and the belief that backs everything I've just said. This is where the rubber meets the road, where faith stops being a nice idea and becomes a living, breathing declaration.

I decree, in the name of Jesus Christ, that my father shall never, ever have a stroke again. I declare, in the name of Jesus Christ, that he is 100% healed and free of all sickness and disease, and he shall live a long, prosperous, peaceful life of joy until the Lord calls him home. By his wounds we are healed. The same power that raised Christ from the dead dwells in him, and that power says sickness has no authority here.

The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.

Dad, you've shown me what unwavering faith looks like—now watch me exercise that same faith over your life. You believed in my dreams when they were invisible; now I'm believing for your divine health when the world says it's impossible.

If two of you on earth agree about anything they ask for, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. So, here's what I need: I need everyone reading this to come into agreement with this declaration. Not out of obligation, but out of the same kind of radical faith my father has demonstrated his entire life.

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. But for those of us blessed enough to still have our fathers, we get to witness this divine love through human hands, human hearts, and beautifully stubborn human faith.

Happy Father's Day to the men who dare to believe in dreams that haven't hatched yet, in potential that's still developing, and in children who sometimes can't see their own worth. Your faith is not foolish—it's prophetic. And it matters more than you'll ever know.

#DropACommentOfFaith and come into agreement with this declaration. Help me show my father what his faith looks like when it's reflected back to him in Christ!