Run to the Father

To My Sisters,

I want to share something personal—something that has shaped not only the way I love but also the way I see God.

My parents divorced when I was five. My dad lived in the same town, but in those early years, I don’t remember much of him. I don’t remember bedtime stories or dinner conversations. He wasn’t always present in the traditional sense. But as I grew older, he began to show up in his own way—quietly, gently. He’d take me fishing or come for a visit. He was a reserved man, not one for long talks, but he had a spark when it came to business. He was an entrepreneur, and I learned early on that if I wanted to connect with him, business was the bridge.

So I studied it. I listened. I asked questions—not just to learn, but to be close to him. As a daughter growing up mostly apart from her dad, it became our way of sharing life together.

I loved my dad deeply. I remember the ache in my heart every summer when our time together ended. I’d board the airplane and look out the window, and there he’d be—standing behind the glass, waving goodbye. And I’d cry. Every single time. The refrain of my childhood became, “I loved my dad, but I was always saying goodbye.”

That pattern left an imprint on me. It shaped how I chose partners, how I trusted, and even how I viewed God as Father. The idea of a Father who stays—who sees me, loves me, speaks to me, and never leaves—was difficult to grasp. Because my earthly father, though I never doubted he loved me, wasn’t always there. He loved me the best he knew how, coming from his own broken background. His father wasn’t the warmest, and while my grandmother was wonderful, my dad didn’t have the best example of what it looked like to father a child.

And I’ve made peace with that. I’ve forgiven the gaps, the silences, the missed milestones. But I see now how that father-shaped space in my heart left me unsure of how to relate to God as Abba—Daddy.

As women, I believe we fall into one of two groups when it comes to the love of a father: either we embrace the concept of God as Father joyfully, or we wrestle with it deeply. Sometimes our spirit hesitates—because of broken trust, because of shame, because we’re afraid to be let down again.

But sisters, hear this: no matter what your earthly father was or wasn’t, you have a Heavenly Father who is not distant. He is holy, loving, and gentle. He’s a Father who delights in you. A Father who wants to spend time with you, speak with you, wrap you in His arms.

He’s the One who counts every tear you’ve cried, who has your name carved into the palm of His hand. He knit you together in your mother’s womb. He sees you. He knows you. He loves you.

He is the Father I now run to—and I hope you do, too. Cathy