My Father’s Sacrifices & My Mother’s Prayers

Growing up in the presence of my father's sacrifices and my mother’s fervent prayers shaped the way I see the world. I spent much of my childhood in church, surrounded by adults who, with their heads bowed and hands raised, asked God for blessings—health, wealth, protection, and the assurance that their children would be alright. I watched them plead and praise, relentlessly seeking favor and mercy. As I grew older, I realized the weight of those prayers. They weren’t just words spoken into the air; they were rooted in love and a fierce desire for their children to have better lives.

Yet, I couldn't ignore the quiet frustration that seemed to hum beneath those prayers. Many of us asked and asked, but rarely received what we specifically prayed for. However, we never truly lacked what we needed either. To me, that middle ground felt like a life of mediocrity. We weren’t living in poverty, but we weren’t exactly thriving either. There was this unspoken tension of being grateful for what we had, while also feeling like there was more out there for us to claim.

This notion didn’t just apply to my family; it was everywhere. Everyone seemed to be striving, asking, sacrificing, but never quite reaching the pinnacle of their dreams. I watched my parents' desires shift, as they balanced providing for us with their own unrealized dreams. And from a young age, I knew I wanted something different. Not because I thought their efforts were in vain, but because I wanted to honor their sacrifices by reaching higher.

When I first became aware of this, I was probably 13, maybe younger. It was the realization that my father’s sacrifices and my mother’s prayers were silently propelling me forward. A lot was riding on me and my siblings to be accomplished or, at the very least, to be okay. But "okay" wasn't good enough for me. I had bigger dreams, but I didn’t always know what they were or how to achieve them.

School, for instance, never felt like my thing. I didn’t hate learning—in fact, I loved it. But the idea of tests, of being measured under pressure, never sat right with me. I knew that tests served a purpose, especially for those who would go on to become doctors or engineers, where precision under pressure is crucial. But for me, school was more about the curiosity it fed and the people I met. I worked hard, but my results never seemed to reflect my efforts, which frustrated my parents and teachers alike and in turn me.

Over time, I came to realize that success, at least as it was taught to me, was closely tied to the traditional path of education. I understood why this was so—society has been built around schools, degrees, and professional accolades. But I also realized that school wasn’t the only way to success. Education was important, yes, but it wasn’t the only answer. There were other ways to achieve, to build a life that honored the sacrifices and prayers of my parents.

And that’s where the challenge lies, doesn’t it? We are the fruit of their labor, the manifestations of their hopes. But what do we do with that? How do we take the responsibility of being their legacy and make it our own? There's a saying I heard once: “It isn’t your fault that you were born poor, but it will be if you die poor.” The weight of that statement is heavy, because it speaks to our responsibility—both to ourselves and to those who came before us.

For those of us who had parents who fought for us, who prayed for us, the challenge becomes living up to the hopes they had for us. But what if you didn’t have that? What if, instead of support, your parents were the ones who hurt you? What then? How do you build a life of success when your foundation is fractured? It’s not impossible, but it’s certainly complicated. The resentment, the pain, the desire to move past it all can weigh you down. Yet, even then, the responsibility remains—your life is still your own to shape.

We often hear that we owe nothing to our parents. After all, we didn’t ask to be born. They made that choice, and we are part of their story as much as they are part of ours. But whether or not we owe them anything, we do owe something to ourselves. Our time is finite, and how we use it matters. Not in the sense of rushing blindly towards success, but in building something intentional. Something meaningful.

Some are fortunate enough to have been born into families where money is not a concern. In those cases, the challenge becomes one of purpose. Do you build on the legacy of your family? Do you join the family business, or do you strike out on your own, forging a new path entirely? Either way, sacrifices will be made. Change will come. The question is whether it’s the kind of change that leads to breakthroughs or breaking points.

Along the way, you’ll likely encounter forces bigger than you, challenges you never saw coming. When that happens, as it inevitably will, I suggest calling on a higher power, whatever that may look like for you. You’ll need grace, mercy, and favor to push through and accomplish what’s never been done before—whether in your family, your community, or the world at large.

In the end, my hope is that my life will be the reflection of my mother’s answered prayers, the fruit of my father’s sacrifices, and the manifestation of my own wildest dreams.