A father's prayer



A Life of Silent Strength: A Father’s Prayer

I am not a drunkard.
Not a spendthrift.
No bad habits.
I have lived with discipline, dignity, and honesty all my life.

Then why, I ask, do sorrow and struggle follow me like a shadow?

I was born with a physical disability — a burden I never chose, yet bore with courage. With God-given intelligence and practical wisdom, I navigated life’s harshest terrains. I became a self-made man. I worked hard, lived frugally, and stood tall despite my limp.

But life had more trials in store.

My beloved daughter — brilliant, kind, and full of promise — was struck down by bipolar disorder. A bright future faded into endless nights of suffering. She became a bank officer, only to abandon the job she earned through merit, crushed by work pressure and relentless depression. Marriage remained a distant dream. She shows no interest in the kitchen, in daily life, in the small things that make a home. Her mind, once a garden, is now a storm-ridden field.

I watch. I worry. I weep — not aloud, but inside, where it hurts the most.

The doctors try their best, but none can offer a permanent cure. Her depressive episodes come like thieves in the night — unexpected, unstoppable. And when they do, I feel helpless, watching her suffer, unable to lend more than my love and presence.

Sometimes I ask God:
Why give me a child only to burden her soul?
Why test me, already born with a crippled leg, with a heart broken by my child’s suffering?

I look around — friends, relatives, neighbors. Most cannot understand.
And I wonder: Whom should I approach for help?

But still, I go on.

With God as my only confidant, I pull through each day.
I smile on the outside, while waves of thoughts crash inside me — fear, sadness, helplessness, questions about her future after we are gone.

She is my child. My soul walks in her shadow.
But her tomorrow keeps me awake tonight.

Will she survive in this world of unkind stares and hurried hearts?

I pray silently. Not for riches. Not for comfort.
Just for peace. For her.

And maybe, in some corner of the sky, God is listening.



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