“You look just like your daddy.” I’ve heard those words more times than I can count. And honestly, they’re true. I’m built just like my dad. I have his coloring. I even have his coarse, curly hair. 

But I carry much more than just his physical traits. I’m stubborn, I’m hard-headed, and I try to fix things with brute force. We both tend to be hot-tempered, but also quick to forgive. He’s a giver, and I like to think that I am, too. 

I always joke that he raised me like a son, but it’s the truth. 

I’m the oldest of three girls. That means for the majority of my life, I got tasked with much of the physical labor. Don’t get me wrong, the other two had their share of it, but if I was around it usually fell to me. I typically never minded it, and still don’t now. 

I tell stories all of the time about my dad, usually when someone makes a comment about me being rough. For example, there was a stretch of time when I couldn’t microwave food without him boxing me out and making me fight to get around him to get to the microwave. There were many elbows thrown when I was growing up, often followed with “I’m just toughening you up for basketball”. We’ve spent many of nights wrestling in the living room floor, mainly because I thought I was bigger and badder than I actually was at the time. As a teenager, he taught me what it meant to be tough. 

But it didn’t end there. He’s taught me what it means to forgive, to stand by my morals and convictions, and to show the love of Jesus to others. He’s guided me through tough times, listened to my rants, and supported me in any way imaginable. 

My dad is a man of few words…for the most part [iykyk]. Growing up, it was rare that I knew him to have a heart-to-heart with us girls. He shows his love in other ways. We never had to worry about our oil being changed or windshield wiper fluid being topped off. My washer and dryer went out recently, and without hesitation, he offered to buy me a new set. He always makes sure we have what we need. Acts of kindness is without a doubt his love language, even though he’d say he doesn’t even know what “love language” means. 

As he’s aged, he’s become more free with his words. Often we’ll get an “I love you, have a great week” text, or a link to a song that will no doubt make me cry. He’s recently sat the three of us down to tell us each how proud he is of us. Those moments are so sweet to me. 

From being in the field 6 days a week to pouring his time into pastoring a church, to running a non-profit with my mom to support mission work, he’s a man who’s in high demand. Even with all of the hats he wears, I know that if I ever need him, he will drop everything and head my way. That’s just the kind of dad he is. 

On the outside, he looks like a tough, burly man’s man. On the inside, he’s kind-hearted, loving, and cares about others more than just about anyone I know. I think pretty much anyone who knows him would agree. 

My sisters and I have been blessed beyond measure. I know people say they have the best dad in the world, but without a doubt we do.