Carrying My Father's Light

The other night I woke with a thought that stopped me:
my essay series 'Words and Fruits' could have been one of my father's sermons.

The next morning, a friend messaged me to say the same thing.

My father tried to live his faith honestly. When he discovered wrongdoing in the church he served, he believed that truth and repentance would win. Instead, he was betrayed, and the lie broke him. The pain of watching good intentions twisted and trust betrayed became the wound he carried for the rest of his life.

Years later, when I saw people I love turn away from the values he had lived by--kindness, humility, compassion--it felt as if that same wound had opened in me. I could finally understand what he must have felt: the heartbreak of watching people you love lose sight of what you tried to teach them.

I'm agnostic now, but the irony is that I'm the one still carrying his light.

I still believe in honesty, fairness, and decency--the values he preached when he thought words could heal.

My essays are for him, and for everyone I've lost who shared that vision: my sister Kathy, my friends Phil and Max, my uncle Tommy, my brother-in-law Bill. Their kindness deserves a voice that hasn't been silenced.

The message my father tried to live is the same one I write now:

Faith isn't measured by belief alone; it's measured by the good you do and the love you leave behind.

That's the sermon he never got to finish. I'm finishing it for him.

Light & Thought
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