YOUR STORY ISN'T OVER

APR 19, 2022

My dad passed away on April 16th after more than 18 years of fighting. Throughout his fight, he wanted to overcome. He wanted to get better. He had hoped that his own struggles could one day help others - that there was a way that his story and life could still be used by God to change another’s. Even in passing from this life and entering into eternity, his story isn’t over. His life has impacted many, and that impact didn’t die with him.

My dad was a hard worker. He often worked overtime to provide for our family in a way that met his own high standards. Because of his dedication, we were able to take two-week vacations almost every summer—trips that became the foundation of some of our best family memories. When my parents bought a timeshare while we were young, it opened the door for us to explore places all over the country. Together, we visited Gatlinburg, TN; Orlando, FL (multiple times); Branson, MO; Palm Springs, CA; Sedona, AZ; Williamsburg, VA; Washington, D.C.; and Hilton Head, SC—one of my personal favorites—among many others.

During those vacations, we shared amazing experiences on that we treasured. We visited multiple theme parks, saw the breathtaking Grand Canyon, stood in awe of the towering Sequoia tress, and we have fished on many of these vacations. These memories are dear to us all, and we will always cherish them.

As a little girl, I was Daddy’s Little Girl, and I was so proud of that. I adored my dad. He was creative, and I remember being mesmerized when he brought home an airbrush painting he had done - a zebra drinking from a pool of water. To me, it was amazing. I wanted to create art just like him. His Harley had a custom paint job, designed by him, and I thought that was the coolest thing ever. He taught me how to fish. He played video games with my brother and me. He even started a car show at our church called Anything on Wheels, which grew into a huge local event. It was a family effort - we all helped out. My dad was incredible, and he loved us deeply.

But, everything changed when I was in fourth grade. That was when my dad found out that the Chrysler plant he worked at in Indy was going to shut down. This consequently rocked our world. It was the turning point - the beginning of a shift in my dad. The dad I knew and was so proud to be his little girl started to crumble.

For him, that moment was a breaking point. My dad took immense pride in providing for us, in building the life we had. And with one announcement, it felt like everything he had worked so hard for was slipping away. I think, in his heart, he feared he would fail us. That fear opened up old wounds—buried pain, struggles he had kept hidden. And from that moment on, life was never quite the same.

My dad turned to alcohol as a way to cope. It became his refuge, a way to numb the pain. But with every drink, he slipped further into a cycle he couldn’t escape—drinking to forget, drowning in guilt and shame, then drinking again to quiet that pain. It was an endless loop of self-sabotage and deceit. And with each round, he became less of himself. Less of the dad I knew.

During my junior high years, I carried so much hurt and anger toward him because of his drinking. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just have my dad back—the dad I knew before. Every summer, during our two-week vacations, I caught a glimpse of him again. For those brief moments, it felt like he was back. But when we returned home, he would slip away again. I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just stop. Why the uninhibited him couldn’t stay.

At the time, I didn’t quite understand the hold that addiction had over him. I didn’t see how the enemy used every mistake against him, throwing his failures back in his face, convincing him he was unworthy of love, grace, mercy, and forgiveness. I didn’t know how hard he was trying—how desperately he wanted to overcome.

Our family had gone to church all of my life. People would tell me how “perfect” and “happy” our family seemed. But they didn't know the whole story. I didn’t share my full story because it couldn’t be told without telling my dad’s story and his fight with addiction. I didn’t want people to judge him. Within the church and outside of the church, there are misconceptions about addiction. Too often, they see only the struggle, the sin, the weakness. They fail to see the person beneath it all—the one who is hurting, who is fighting, who is trying. That wasn’t what I wanted for my dad. I wanted people to see the man I knew was still there, buried beneath the brokenness.

As my dad walked his journey, I found myself on my own. Through it all, I learned about grace and forgiveness in ways I never expected. I learned how to love someone where they are, how to have compassion even in the messiness of it all. The anger I once held in my junior high years softened into something else—an aching desire for my dad to understand how deeply he was loved. Even in his brokenness. Even in his struggle. I wanted him to truly believe that he was worthy of love. I longed for him to break free from the shackles of guilt and shame that held him captive.

Every day, he battled his addiction to alcohol. He tried. He went to multiple rehabs, attended AA meetings, threw himself into spiritual disciplines - reading devotions, watching sermons, attending Bible studies. He put in the effort. But the weight of shame and guilt often pulled him back under.

Through it all, he was deeply sorry for the role that alcohol played in his story - and inevitably, ours. He carried that sorrow with him, apologizing to my mom, to my brothers, to me, to his parents, and to God. He wanted so badly to break free from his chains.

Before my dad was put on hospice, I had a moment with him in the hospital. The rest of the family had left, and it was just the two of us. He looked at me and told me how sorry he was—sorry for not being the dad he wished he could have been, sorry for not always being there as his true self, sorry for the pain and hurt he had caused, sorry because he felt like our memories with him were forever stained by the darkness of his struggle.

But that just wasn't true.

I told him about the good memories—the ones that mattered most to me. I reminded him that those memories far outweighed the bad. I told him how much he was loved. That all we wanted was for him to fully accept that love.

My family saw my dad as the prodigal son in Luke 15 that the Father was waiting to pour out his love to and welcome home - a son worthy of love. The night he passed, those of us present came together to pray for him and over him. Our prayer was for Jesus to walk with him from life to life. My brother asked that He give my dad the embrace that his soul has longed for his whole life, just like we knew He would.

In what would be some of our final moments with him, we had the opportunity to pray over my dad, tell him how much we loved him, how much he would be missed, and how it was all going to be ok - Jesus had him and us.

Shortly after, my dad passed.

I believe he heard our words. I believe, in that moment, he finally found peace. I believe his soul was finally ready.

Katy Nichole’s song In Jesus Name (God of Possible), encompasses my prayers for my dad throughout his journey, and I would like to share those lyrics here.

I speak the name of Jesus over you

In your hurting, in your sorrow

I will ask my God to move

I speak the name ‘cause it’s all that I can do

In desperation, I’ll seek Heaven

And I pray this for you

I pray for your healing

That circumstances will change

I pray that the fear inside will flee in Jesus name

I pray that a breakthrough would happen today

I pray miracles over your life in Jesus name, in Jesus name

I speak the name of all authority

Declaring blessings, every promise

He is faithful to keep

I speak the name no grave could ever hold

He is greater, He is stronger

He’s the God of possible

I pray for your healing

That circumstances will change

I pray that the fear inside will flee in Jesus name

I pray that a breakthrough would happen today

I pray miracles over your life in Jesus name, in Jesus name

Come believe it

Come receive it

Oh, the power of His Spirit is now forever yours

Come believe it

Come receive it

In the mighty name of Jesus, all things are possible

I pray for your healing

That circumstances will change

I pray that the fear inside will flee in Jesus name

I pray that a breakthrough would happen today

I pray miracles over your life in Jesus name

I pray for revival

For restoration of faith

I pray that dead will come alive in Jesus name

In Jesus name

While we didn’t get to witness the transformation and freedom we longed for our dad to experience in this life, his journey sparked our own personal transformations. My brother captured it so beautifully in his blog post, and I can think of no better words to describe how we saw him:

While we didn’t get to see our dad experience the transformation and freedom that we longed for him to have in this life, his journey sparked our own personal transformations. My brother captured it so beautifully in his blog post, and I can think of no better words to describe how we saw him:

“Dad is a ragamuffin, but he is God’s ragamuffin.’ (For the record, we are all ragamuffins in our own right.) As my dad lay in the hospice bed, sedated and on a trajectory of death, my heart was frequently overcome with compassion and a deep sense that God really loves him. ‘Abba’ was so fond of him. My dad just struggled to believe he was worth it. It is ok though. The Father’s love is not determined by our capacity to understand it. God was fond him.”

We saw our dad for who he was—flawed and broken, as we all are, yet still worthy of love, grace, compassion, and forgiveness. Through everything, we did our best to show him God’s unconditional love. I didn’t always get it right. There were times I reacted out of my own hurt, moments I wish I had been more patient, more understanding. But I hope my dad knew—truly knew—how much I loved him, how much I forgave him, and how I never stopped being his little girl.

He wanted so badly to turn his life around, to break free from his addiction. More than that, he wanted to help others do the same. He hoped his story could be used to bring healing—to show others struggling in the same way that they were not beyond redemption, that God’s love reached even the darkest places. As death drew near, he also hoped that our family would grow closer through it all.

Even in his own struggles with addiction and feeling unworthy of God’s love, my dad still had a heart for others. He knew a man battling addiction and wanted to help him. Every Sunday morning, he would pick him up so they could watch the live stream of my brother’s church service together. This man had been in jail, where volunteer chaplains told him lies like, “God only hears our prayers when we kneel to pray” or “God can’t forgive someone who’s lived a life like yours.” Lies like these only deepened his shame, making him feel beyond God’s reach.

But my dad told him the truth. He told him that Jesus died for his sins because He loved him. That he didn’t have to carry the weight of his past, because Jesus already had. That God’s love wasn’t something he had to earn—it was already his.

My dad wanted God to bring beauty from the ashes of his life. And in many ways, He has. My dad’s story isn’t over. His life and his struggles have left an impact on all of us. Our family can’t tell our own stories without telling his—his battle with addiction, his fight for redemption, and the overwhelming love and grace God had for him

Dad, you are so deeply loved and will be forever missed. You are whole now. You are free from every chain. God loved you so much, and loves you still.