The Fatherhood of God: The Father I Never Had

I was standing in center field during my ninth-grade baseball game when I saw my parents’ car pull into the parking lot. Even from a distance, I could tell they were drunk. I watched people in the bleachers notice. I saw the whispers, the turned heads, the uncomfortable laughter.

And there I was—alone in the outfield—fighting back tears, crushed under a shame I didn’t know how to carry. Not just shame for myself, but for them. For what they had become. For what our family had become.

That moment wasn’t unusual. It was one scene in a childhood marked by chaos, fear, and absence—even when the people who were supposed to protect me were physically present.

There were police visits. Nights spent in strangers’ homes while child protective services figured out what to do with us. Memories I never wanted to carry into adulthood—memories that shaped the way I understood the word father.

My father never told me he loved me—not once. He never hugged me. Never taught me how to throw a baseball, fix a flat tire, treat a woman with respect, or navigate life with any sense of confidence. He was present in body but absent in every way that mattered.

So how do you become the father your children need when you never had one yourself?

What I didn’t know then, standing in that outfield, was that God was already pursuing me.

Even though I didn’t believe in Him yet, He was moving toward me—quietly, faithfully—long before I moved toward Him.

Finding the Father I Never Had

I came to faith in Christ at seventeen. But even after I believed, I struggled with the word Father. It was loaded with too much pain. Too much disappointment. Too much confusion.

But over time, as I walked with God, something began to shift. I slowly realized that my earthly father did love me—he just didn’t know how to show it. He came from a broken, alcoholic home himself. His own father died when he was ten. He had never received affection, so he didn’t know how to give it. He was parenting from wounds, not wisdom.

God began teaching me something I desperately needed to learn: forgiveness doesn’t wait until someone earns it. And love—real love—doesn’t depend on the other person getting everything right.

When I left for college, I did something I’d never done before. I looked at my parents and said, “I love you.”

It felt awkward. Unnatural. But it was real. Not because they had given me that love, but because God had. My father never said the words back—but something in me changed. I was free from what I didn’t receive. I could give what God had given me.

Later, when I encountered Romans 8:15—“You have received the Spirit of adoption, by whom we cry, ‘Abba, Father’”—I discovered something new. Abba wasn’t the cold, distant father I had known. Abba meant Papa. Daddy. The One who delights in His children, protects them, leads them, comforts them.

And then Jesus’ words in John 15:15 stunned me: “I have called you friends.”

Friends.
Not servants.
Not slaves.
Not orphans trying to earn approval.

God was showing me a picture of fatherhood I had never seen in real life: a Father who leads with strength and a Friend who walks with love.

And as I received that, something healed in me. Slowly, God gave me a vision:
What if I could become for my children what He has been for me?

God as the Perfect Model

Ephesians 3:14–15 says that every family—and every father—derives its name from God. In other words, we don’t create fatherhood and project it onto God. God creates fatherhood and shows us what it is.

This is both humbling and liberating.

Humbling because none of us get this perfectly.
Liberating because we don’t have to guess—we have a model.

God as Father: Authority With Love

God exercises authority, but He is never authoritarian. His boundaries are for our protection. His discipline is for our growth. His leadership is always for our good.

He is strong, consistent, trustworthy—a rock for His children.

This is what our kids need from us as fathers: strength without harshness, boundaries without coldness, leadership without domination.

God as Friend: Presence With Grace

But God doesn’t stop at authority. He also offers friendship. Jesus says, “I call you friends.” He advocates for us. He empowers us. He delights in us—not for what we produce, but simply because we belong to Him.

This is the other side of fatherhood: being emotionally available, gentle, present, encouraging.

Kids don’t just need a leader—they need a relationship. They need a dad who sees them, knows them, and enjoys them.

God is not “either/or” but both/and—and we are called to reflect both sides to our children.

You Need More Than Knowledge—You Need Power

Here’s the truth: most dads don’t need more information about fatherhood. They need more power.

You already know you should be more patient.
You already know you should be more present.
You already know you need to break patterns from your past.

The problem isn’t knowledge.
The problem is power.

Romans 8:11 says the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead lives in you. The power that rolled the stone away is available to you right now as a dad.

You don’t have to fight your battles alone. You don’t have to parent from old wounds. You don’t have to pass on what was handed to you.

You can be the break in the chain.
You can be the new beginning.
You can be the father your kids need.

Not because you’re strong enough—but because He is.

The Invitation to Every Father

At the end of the day, this journey isn’t just about becoming a better father.

It’s about letting God father you.

You can’t give your kids what you haven’t received.
You can’t lead them with a strength you don’t possess.
You can’t offer them a love you’ve never known.

But when you let God step into the places your earthly father couldn’t fill—when you receive His authority, His tenderness, His correction, His friendship—you become a different kind of man.

Not perfect.
But whole.
Not flawless.
But faithful.

And your children will inherit something new—a father who leads with wisdom and loves with warmth, a father who models what it looks like to be loved by God.