Years ago, I had the privilege of helping a Minnesota business owner grow his company. His business wasn’t just about making videos for businesses—it was about fighting one of the darkest realities in our world: child trafficking.
As we discussed his mission, he shared a question that has stayed with me ever since.
“If your child’s bed was empty tonight, could you sleep?”
It wasn’t a marketing slogan. It wasn’t a clever tagline. It was a question designed to strike me deep in my soul. Little did I know it was to be part of my future when darkness, lies and false allegations took over.
What if your son or daughter simply wasn’t there?
What if their room sat quiet?
What if their laughter disappeared and the silence deafened you?
Most parents can’t even allow themselves to think about it.
Neither could I because I had a loving wife and the perfect family model.
Today, when I walk past my children’s bedrooms, I sometimes see empty beds. And it wrecks me to the point where I need to keep their doors closed.
Not because they were taken from this world, but because one of the most tragic “transitions” ever happened in their life. Divorce changed the rhythm of our lives forever.
As a single father, I spend nearly half of my life without my children.
That sentence is easy to write. It’s much harder to live and tolerate.
People often say, “At least you know where they are” And they’re right.
I thank God for that every single day but nothing can prepare you for the “I wish I was there not here right now texts and facetimes… Knowing they’re safe doesn’t erase the silence. It doesn’t replace the conversations that never happened and seeing how much they have changed in just one week,
It doesn’t give back the bedtime prayers, the movie nights, the random hugs, or the ordinary moments that become extraordinary simply because they happen with your children and were stolen from you. The hardest part isn’t always the big moments It’s the little ones. Making dinner for one is worthless. Walking by bedrooms that are perfectly made because no one has slept there is like daggers to the heart.
Hearing a joke and instinctively reaching for your phone to tell your kids—only to realize it’s not your day.
Watching other fathers coach, laugh, and simply exist with their children while you’re counting down the days until your house feels like a home again.
No one really prepares you for that. and the worst part so many people want to limit that time or even take it away all together.
As fathers, we’re often taught to be strong.
To carry the weight.
To keep moving. Don’t complain.
To not talk about loneliness.
But loneliness has a way of finding you anyway.
Still, I’ve learned something.
Love isn’t measured only by presence.
It’s measured by consistency.
By showing up every chance you get. The kids will see this
By being dependable.
By making every hour together matter.
By refusing to let bitterness steal the joy your children deserve.
I don’t get every birthday morning. I don’t get every school night.
I don’t get every spontaneous moment.
But when I do get time with my children, I want them to know something.
Dad is all in. And that they come FIRST, before other time, friends, projects or Lovers……
I encourage every dad to Enjoy every conversation.
Every laugh.
Every lesson.
Every hug.
Every prayer.
Because none of us knows how many moments we’ll ultimately receive.
If you’re a single parent reading this, I want you to know you’re not alone.
The empty bedrooms are real.
The quiet is real.
The ache is real.
But so is hope.
And if you’re blessed enough to have your children with you every day, don’t let ordinary moments become invisible and do not do anything to jeopardize this precious blessed scenario.
Put down the phone.
Read one more bedtime story.
Throw one more football.
Ask one more question about their day.
Give one more hug.
Because childhood doesn’t wait.
Neither does time.
I still remember that question from years ago.
“If your child’s bed was empty tonight, could you sleep?”
For many single parents, we don’t have to imagine empty beds.
We see them.
We walk past them.
We feel them.
And every time I do, I’m reminded of something else.
The nights my children aren’t with me don’t define my fatherhood. Neither will the opinions of anyone else about me.
What defines me is what I do with the moments I have.
Those moments are priceless.
And I intend to make every one of them count for as long as I live.
“These commandments that I give you today are to be on your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.”
Deuteronomy 6:6-7
