“I know the Lord is my Daddy. I am forever grateful for that.” 

I grew up with a single mom, but she always told me that if I ever wanted to meet my father, she would make it happen. One thing I deeply appreciate is that she never let anyone speak negatively about him in front of me. She wanted me to form my own opinions about who he was. 

When I was in sixth grade, she came home and told me that my father had started working second shift at the same place she worked. Naturally, I asked if I could meet him. She arranged for the three of us to sit down together during his lunch break a few nights later. 

As a little girl, I didn’t know what to expect. I had grown up hearing my friends talk about the things they did with their dads. I never felt like I was missing out because my grandfather—my Papa-Daddy—had filled that fatherly role in my life. (I’ll share more about him in another post.) 

But still, I wondered: 

Should I be excited? Nervous? Should I ask all the questions I had? Should I just let him talk? 

I was a shy child, but having the meeting in my mom’s car with her by my side helped me feel more comfortable. 

I asked him why he had never been in my life, why he didn’t fight to be there. He said he didn’t want my mom to take him to court for child support. Even as a young girl, that reason didn’t sit right with me. But I let it go… for the time being. 

I found out that I had siblings—a big sister, a younger sister, and a younger brother. That made me so excited. I asked to be connected with them too. 

A Shocking Truth 

After a few more lunch-break meetings, he asked to speak with my mom alone. She agreed. She’d heard rumors that he was dating someone at the factory and didn’t really care—but that’s not what the meeting was about. 

That night, he told her he was working there on work release from jail, where he was serving time for sexual abuse of a minor. (Out of respect for the victim, I won’t share details.) 

He asked if he could continue seeing me. My mom told him she’d let me decide, and that she would set very clear boundaries. 

When she came home and told me everything, I chose not to have further contact. I wasn’t angry—I just didn’t want to risk getting hurt. 

Reconnecting as an Adult 

Nearly ten years later, I reached out to him through Facebook. I had grown and matured. This time, I had a long list of questions—and I asked them early on. 

At first, he gave more excuses for why he hadn’t fought to be in my life. He did visit me at church and started asking questions to get to know me. I tried to learn about him too. 

Once, he said something like, “I didn’t even know that happened to you.” 

I answered honestly: “Of course you didn’t. You weren’t there.” 

I didn’t say it to hurt him—just to be real. 

A Turning Point 

Then, he went into a diabetic coma and almost died. 

When he came out of the hospital, something had changed. He sat me down and said: 

“No more excuses. I should’ve tried harder to know you. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry. I regret not being part of your life. Please forgive me.” 

From that point on, he put in the effort. He came to my church more often. He messaged me at least once a week to check in. 

It meant more to me than I can put into words. That consistent effort started to heal places in me I didn’t even know were wounded. 

I was honest with him: 

“I can now call you my father, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to call you dad.” 

His reply was humble: 

“You’re right. I don’t deserve to be called dad. I wasn’t there.” 

Grieving What Could Have Been 

A few years later, he slipped into another diabetic coma and passed away. 

His death hit me harder than I expected. I grieved the time we had missed, the memories we never got to make. A counselor encouraged me to write him a letter and read it at his grave. 

It was the most healing thing I’ve ever done. 

I told him I was mad. 

Mad that I didn’t get to know him better. 

Mad that I missed time with my siblings. 

Mad that I spent years wondering what was broken in me that made me unlovable. 

Sad that we never got the chance to see if we could’ve had a real father-daughter relationship. 

But I also shared this: 

I believe he came to know the Lord. I believe he’s in Heaven. And I’m so grateful for the time we did have. 

A Heavenly Father’s Love 

More than anything, I’m grateful that I know who my true Daddy is—the Lord. He has never left me. He’s never missed a moment. And He always calls me His. 

This journey has also opened the door for me to relate to youth who grew up without a father—or without a mother. It’s helped me speak into their lives with empathy, love, and truth. 

I always tell them: 

“No matter what choices your parents made, you have a Father in Heaven who loves you more than you could ever imagine.” 

Yes, there were hard moments. But the healing, and the way God has used my story to help others, made it all worth it. 

So, if you’re reading this and you feel broken or unlovable, let me tell you: 

You are loved. You are wanted. And you are whole.