To My Father Poem by Christen Kuikoua

To you Father

Some say fathers are strict,
And I have no reason to doubt them.
Yet when I think of you, I remember not harshness,
But a shield.
A protector.
A father who stood between me and dangers I could not see.
Today, I honor you.
I honor the grace God placed upon your life.
I honor the wisdom He entrusted to you.
I honor the sacrifices you made that I may stand where I stand today.
I honor the lessons, the discipline, and the strength you carried.
For there is no son without a father,
And in countless ways, you have been one to me.
But because I honor you, I must speak honestly.
The father I admire most is not the intelligent man.
It is not the accomplished man.
It is not even the respected man.
The father I admire most is the man of God you once were.
I remember a father whose knees knew the ground.
A father whose voice could be heard calling upon God.
A father who carried his family before the throne of grace.
A father whose faith was not merely spoken but lived.
That man taught me more than books ever could.
I watched him pray.
I watched him trust God.
I watched him fear the Lord.
And I wanted to become like him.
Father, I say this with tears in my heart: I miss that man.
Not because he is entirely gone,
But because he no longer stands where he once stood.
I miss the fire.
I miss the hunger for God.
I miss the spiritual leadership that made me feel safe, not merely as a son, but as a believer.
You taught me that nothing mattered more than God.
You taught me that prayer was not an option but a necessity.
You taught me that a man who does not walk with God will eventually lose his way.
And now I find myself repeating your own lessons back to you.
That is not a place any son wishes to stand.
I do not write these words from pride.
I write them from grief.
For I would rather follow your example than remind you of it.
I would rather learn from your prayers than long for them.
I would rather see you burn for God than remember when you did.
Father, forgive me if these words wound you.
But sometimes wounds are evidence of love.
I refuse to flatter you while watching you drift.
I refuse to praise your past while remaining silent about your present.
You are too wise to not know it.
You are too experienced to not see it.
You are too close to God to pretend He has not been calling you back.
The enemy did not defeat you in a day.
He simply convinced you to settle for less than what God called you to be.
Yet I believe there is still hope.
Because the God who met you before has not changed.
The God who filled your mouth with prayer has not changed.
The God who used your life to bless others has not changed.
And therefore you can rise again.
Not for reputation.
Not for recognition.
Not even for family.
But for Christ.
Father, I still honor you.
I still love you.
I still thank God for you.
But the greatest gift you could ever give me is not more wisdom, more provision, or more accomplishments.
The greatest gift you could give me is to become again the man whose love for God made me believe that serving Christ was worth everything.
That father is the one I miss.
That father is the one I pray to see again.
And that father is the one I know, by the grace of God, can still return.