Some people dream with their eyes closed. Others dream wide awake—with blistered hands, broken pride, and a will that won’t back down.

Sidney Poitier was the second kind.

Born prematurely in Miami to tomato farmers from the Bahamas, Sidney wasn’t expected to survive his first week. He grew up without electricity, running water, or formal schooling. By the time he moved to the U.S. at 15, he was functionally illiterate and had a thick Bahamian accent.

He arrived in Harlem with nothing but a dream: to act. Laughable, really. He couldn’t read a script or imitate an American accent. And in Jim Crow America, Black actors weren’t lining up to receive Oscars.

But here’s where the story turns.

Rejected by an acting school, he didn’t storm out. He went home and got to work. He taught himself to read using newspapers. He mimicked radio announcers to refine his speech. He swept floors at the American Negro Theatre just to be near the stage.

He failed auditions. He bombed onstage. He kept going.

Eventually, he began landing roles—roles with dignity and depth. In The Defiant Ones (1958), he became the first Black actor nominated for a Best Actor Oscar. In 1964, he became the first to win, for Lilies of the Field. He didn’t walk through a door; he broke it off the hinges so others could follow.

And all because he refused to let a dream die.

Dreams aren’t meant to be coddled. They’re meant to be carried—dragged, if necessary—through doubt, failure, and obscurity. They stretch and humble us, shaping us into people who can handle the weight of them.

Focus keeps you from chasing every shiny distraction.
Persistence keeps you going when no one claps.
Growth makes you ready for the moment when it finally comes.

So when it gets hard, when the path feels slow or silent—remember Sidney.

“I don’t know that I would call myself a dreamer. I think I’m a dream carrier.”
—Sidney Poitier

“Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”
—Galatians 6:9 (CSB)

There’s a difference between being a father and being a dad.
Fatherhood can begin with biology—but being a dad? That’s a calling.

A dad shows up. Not just once or twice, but over and over again. Through scraped knees, late-night talks, tough love, silent prayers, and unwavering belief in who you’re becoming. A dad is the steady hand on the shoulder, the raised eyebrow of accountability, the warm embrace that says, “You’re safe here.”

Some men have children and never fully embrace that role. Others never had children of their own, yet stepped into the life of a young soul and made all the difference. Their time, wisdom, and consistency left fingerprints on a heart that will never forget them. Those are dads too.

A dad is more than a provider. He’s a protector, a coach, a counselor, a teacher, a servant leader. He may not always have the right words, but he’s always trying to do right by you. He bears the weight of responsibility, often quietly, so others can flourish. He’s not perfect—but his effort, his love, and his presence speak volumes.

So today, we pause to honor the men who chose to show up—again and again.
Whether you’re the dad who raised your own children with faith and integrity, or the one who mentored, coached, or stepped in for someone else’s child—you matter. You are deeply appreciated.

Happy Father’s Day.
May you continue to embody the strength, courage, accountability, and unwavering love that shape character and destiny. Your grit is a gift. Your presence is power. And your influence runs deeper than you know.

“Be alert, stand firm in the faith, be courageous, be strong. Do everything in love.”
— 1 Corinthians 16:13-14 (Christian Standard Bible)