To My Parents My First Intercessors 

There are no words strong enough, no language rich enough, to fully contain what my heart feels when I think of you both, now. 
 
In a world drowning in self, in sin, in distraction and deception where truth has become optional and righteousness ridiculed, I stand as one who yet remains anchored. Not by my own wisdom, not by chance or coincidence, but because you refused to let go of the plow. 
 
You prayed for me daily, even when I rolled my eyes. Even when my heart didn’t understand the power of what was happening in that room before I caught the school bus. You laid your hands on my destiny and wouldn’t let go. 
 
You enforced a truth I couldn’t yet appreciate. One that seemed to chafe against my childhood freedom but became the very foundation that now saves my soul. When I was a child, I didn’t recognize the oil. But now I know it wasn’t just tradition or routine, it was warfare, it was intercession. It was the steady hammering of heaven against hell. 
 
I remember the vacuum lines in the carpet before Bible study nights, the smell of coffee and freshly cleaned surfaces as you made space holy for the Word of God and for people to gather. You didn’t just host a gathering. You hosted glory. You laid your lives down, week after week, to make the altar in our home burn bright. I saw demons flee and the Spirit move. 
I saw manifestations of deliverance and dreams that shook the atmosphere. What I once dismissed as “extra” or “embarrassing” was spiritual architecture. You were raising up a dwelling place for God in our family. 
 
I used to complain and cuss that I hated being dragged to church and youth group. I hated the long services, the volunteering, the discipline, the Sunday clothes. But now I bless you for it. Because that wasn’t control it was protection. And now I can see. 
 
Now, I walk in discernment, I see spirits for what they are. I can feel heaven and hell move in a room. I carry salvation not as a concept but as a covenant. And the sword of truth rests in my mouth, not because I earned it but because you planted it. 
 
Mom… Dad… 
Thank you for fighting for my soul even when I didn’t know it was at war. Thank you for holding the line. Thank you for not being “modern” or “cool” or “relaxed” when it came to the things of God. You chose reverence over relevance and in doing so, you gave me life. 
 
You taught me to seek not a feeling but the face of the Father. You taught me the Word, line upon line, precept upon precept. And though I wandered, I never forgot. Even in rebellion, your prayers stood taller than my pride. Even in confusion, your teachings echoed louder than the world’s lies. 
 
Dad, thank you for debating with me not to win, but to sharpen me. Thank you for letting the Word be a sword, not a feather. Mom, thank you for the discipline, the order, the love you wrapped in strength. Thank you for building a house where demons had to flee. Thank you for every late night of intercession, for the hands laid on my head, for the prophecies spoken over me that I never even knew about until now. They found me – every single one, because the Word of God never returns void. 
 
You blessed me. Even when you didn’t lay hands and speak it over me in the way others did. Your lives were the blessing. Your obedience was the covering. And now I give it back to you, in full circle. 
 
I declare over you both: 
 
“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.” Matthew 5:6 
 
May your latter days be more glorious than your former. May every seed you sowed in tears come up in a harvest of joy. May your faith echo through generations that are yet to be born. And may the King you served in secret reward you openly in this life and the next. 
 
Thank you for raising a warrior. Thank you for showing me how to endure. Thank you for blessing me with truth. You didn’t push religion. You planted life and now I live because of it. 
 
With all my love, 
With eternal gratitude, 
With every fiber of my spirit, thank you, guys. 
 
To every parent reading this: 
 
Even if you don’t have a relationship with your child, pray anyway. Even if they’ve cut you off, intercede anyway. Even if you don’t see change, never stop believing. You may not witness it in your timing, But God will move in His. 
 
Fast, pray and prophecy. Speak the Word while they sleep. Lay your hands on their names and war for their soul. Like Job, rise early and offer up sacrifices for your children just in case they’ve cursed God in their hearts (Job 1:5). Build spiritual hedges where the world has dug holes. Cover what they don’t even know is exposed. 
 
Even when they resist, plant the seed. Because one day, they’ll return with fire in their eyes and thank you for refusing to bow to culture.