🌸 I Was Trying to Be a Good Dad, I Kept Getting It Wrong on Thursdays
I was learning grace in the morning — and losing it by the afternoon.
From Chula Vista – Just West of Otay Lakes
Hey – It’s Luis.
Everybody wants a good day.
A great morning. Kids out the door without a fight. An afternoon that flows.
Nobody plans to be a hot mess by 8 AM.
But Thursdays had a way of finding me before I found them.
The Curb
Thursdays used to work me over from both ends.
Thursday mornings, I would pull up to their mom’s front door to pick up Henri and Gemma.
Some days I was told to wait at the curb.
I would sit there in the car, engine running, watching the door.
Maybe you know that feeling.
You are doing everything right — showing up, holding it together, keeping it moving — and the good day you wanted is already slipping before 8 AM.
That was me on Thursdays.
The seed of all of it was planted years earlier — every morning for seven years, I prayed for her new boyfriend.
A pastor I met at Starbucks — who would later become one of the teaching pastors at my church — gave it a name.
Transition Day.
Kids moving between two homes carry that shift with them.
It doesn’t happen at the door.
It happens slowly — over the length of a drive, if you give it room.
On those days, he told me, they need more grace than usual.
That changed how I saw the morning.
The Game
Henri is fourteen now — a junior tennis player.
But back then, he was that kid — backpack on, iPad out, in a parking lot full of hypercars.
I started taking him to Cars and Coffee when he was five.
He knew the difference between a Lamborghini and a McLaren before most grown men could.
So I built him a game for the drive to school.
We competed. Whoever spotted the car first earned the points.
Tesla — 5 points
Porsche — 5 points
Supercar — 10 points
Hypercar — 15 points
Helicopter — 20 points
By the time we pulled into the drop-off line, we had forgotten what the morning felt like at the curb.
We were too busy keeping score.
Henri almost always had the highest score.
That was grace with something to look forward to.
The Other End of the Day
But Thursdays had two ends.
The morning I was learning to handle.
The afternoon was still teaching me.
One afternoon, Henri came home from school and stood at my front door —
backpack still on, the weight of the whole day on him —and he lost it.
I stepped in the way a father steps in when something has to stop.
But afterward, I sat with a weight I didn’t expect.
I had acted.
I had done what needed doing.
But it didn’t feel like I had loved him well in that moment.
The Shift
I brought it to a pastor who had been walking with me for about a year. He would mentor me for the next six. Seven years total — but at that point, we were just getting started.
I told him I didn’t want to repeat what had been done to me as a boy.
That I loved my son.
That getting it wrong in the same moment I was trying to get it right was more weight than I knew how to carry.
He pointed me to Hebrews 12:
“My dear child, don’t shrug off God’s discipline, but don’t be crushed by it either. It’s the child he loves that he disciplines; the child he embraces, he also corrects.”
Then he said something I have not let go of since.
God never punishes out of fear. He disciplines from love.
That was the shift.
Not less correction.
Better posture.
“For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” — John 1:16
The Practice
So I changed what I did next.
I would breathe.
Pray.
Take a knee.
Look him in the eyes.
Name what happened.
Then correct — not to vent, not to control, but to love.
And when I got it wrong, I went back.
I took a knee again.
Looked him in the eyes.
Named my fault.
Asked him to forgive me.
That became the practice.
Not a perfect father.
A father who came back.
Today, my kids are older.
I don’t take a knee anymore.
But I still go back.
I still name it.
I still ask for forgiveness.
That part never changed.
What Actually Healed It
They say time heals all wounds.
I’ve seen it up close, and I want to be honest with you —time wasn’t what did it.
Forgiveness did it.
Love did it.
Grace did it.
Thursday mornings, I sat at the curb and prayed.
Today, I’m invited inside for dinner. That dinner has its own story. The night I almost said no.
That’s what grace does when you plant it in the hardest soil and refuse to stop.
The Seed
Your kids don’t need you to get it right every time.
They need to watch you come back.
That’s the seed.
Before You Go
Roger Federer took 15 seconds after losing a point to process it, let it go, and lock in on the next one.
Fifteen seconds. You have that.
The next time a moment gets away from you, don’t try to win it back with more words.
Take a breath.
Say a quick prayer.
Then go back.
Look them in the eyes.
Name it.
Ask for forgiveness.
You don’t need a perfect moment.
You just need a return.
What is the seed you have been planting that you haven’t seen break ground yet?
Reply or leave a comment and tell me. I read every one.
🌸 Happy Grace,
Luis
P.S. Henri and I had our car game. What’s the small, specific thing you do that makes a hard transition lighter for your kid?