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One of the hardest things for me in ministry—maybe the hardest—is sharing my personal feelings and life with the church. I’ve always been a little guarded. It’s just who I am. You’ll probably never see me cry… unless I’m really angry. And even then, I try to keep it together.

Over the years, I can only think of one church where I truly let my guard down. Most of the time, I hold things close. That’s why I’m always so honored when someone invites me into a deeply personal moment. I know what it costs to do that. And if you’re anything like me, it may take everything in you just to open up a little.

That’s also why I don’t usually say much when someone asks me about another person’s situation. I often say, “You should go to them.” Not because I don’t care, but because I believe people deserve the space to tell their own story when they’re ready.

And that’s also why I don’t usually push when someone shares a prayer concern. I’ll say thank you, I’ll hold them in prayer, but I try not to pry. Because sometimes people say “I’m okay” when they’re really not. And if I’m not the one they want to open up to in that moment, I want to respect that. Sometimes what someone really needs is simply to be seen and not pressed for more.

Right now, I’m walking through something deeply personal myself. My father is in the process of dying.

People who know this have asked, “How are you?” And I’ve answered, “I’m okay.” And I am… in the sense that I’m functioning, present, and grateful for the support around me. But I’m also watching the strong, confident, golf-loving, witty man I’ve always known slowly fade.  Dementia is a cruel disease. And it’s hard to see someone who was once so full of life now unable to do the things he loved most.

I want peace for my dad. I want him to be free—not trapped in a body and mind that won’t do what he wants it to do anymore. I want him to experience wholeness beyond this life, to be restored in the presence of God.

Once, while working as a Chaplain at Cancer Treatment Centers of America, someone asked me, “Is it okay to pray for my loved one to die?” They were watching someone they loved suffer, and they didn’t know how to carry the weight of that. I told them, “Yes.” Yes, it is okay to pray that kind of prayer.

And maybe you’ve prayed that same prayer. Maybe you’re praying it now. If so, I want you to know: God hears you. God hears them—even when they can no longer speak, even when they’re no longer themselves. The Spirit intercedes when we no longer have words. That’s the kind of God we trust—one who draws near in suffering, one who holds our sorrow and theirs.

This Father’s Day hits differently for me. I’m grateful for my dad—for who he is, for who he was, and for all the ways he shaped my life. And I’m grieving. Maybe you are too this year—for a dad you miss, a dad you never had, or one whose presence is slipping away. If that’s you, know you’re not alone. There’s room for all of it: the gratitude, the ache, the complicated love. God holds it all.

So if you’ve ever felt like “I’m okay” was the best you could offer… I get it. I’m there too. And if you’ve ever wondered whether your quiet prayers for peace and release were holy—yes. Yes, they are.  See you Sunday!

Peace, Pastor Tracy