Today is Father’s Day in the United States. In honor of that, I’ve decided to share a story about my father and me. It’s quite personal and I don’t believe I’ve ever shared it before.

Growing up, I don’t recall having much of a relationship with my father. We only began to talk once he got me a car. Then conversations were centered around how the car was running, what it needs, trading it for another car, fixing it, etc. That was our bond. Until . . .

In my early twenties when I was on a trip to Guadalajara, Mexico, I woke up in the middle of the night. My father had died. I just knew it. I could feel it. I figured a call would be coming any time to tell me to come home. I began to cry, and I called out to the Lord, “No! I’m not ready to lose my father. We don’t have a relationship,” I said, begging for more time with him.

“Then develop the relationship,” the Lord said to me. I committed that I would.

The phone call never came, my father was fine. And when I returned to Phoenix a few weeks later, I made a point of taking action on my commitment. When I saw him, I walked right up and gave him a big hug. That was a first in our adult lives. He was stiff as a board. It was something new and uncomfortable—for both of us.

I began to initiate conversations with him. To seek him out. To develop our relationship. I don’t recall the details that followed, but I do remember riding with him in his truck one day. We were going to the hospital to visit his friend Jay. That’s when it dawned on me: Look! We have a relationship. We’re talking, sharing. The hospital visit was full of laughter and warmth—when out with his friends, my dad was a funny guy. That’s a side to him we hadn’t seen much at home as I grew up, but it’s a part of his life that I experienced in later years. I had accomplished what I committed to do.

It was about twenty years later that my father passed away. He was in the hospital for several days. His body was in bad shape, and we knew he was near the end of this life. As was my family’s custom, someone was always in the room with him—usually my mom, an aunt, or me. One of my fondest memories came from sitting with him one night, watching a basketball game. Being from Los Angeles, I was rooting for the Lakers. My dad supported the Phoenix Suns. We laughed, and bantered, and shared a wonderful and relaxing time.

When he died, I had total confidence that he loved me; and equally, I know he was fully aware of how much I loved him. Our relationship was solid and without regrets. I am forever grateful for being shaken awake in the middle of the night those many years earlier.

This reminds me that sometimes we have to move out of our comfort zone. Do what’s not normal for us. Go beyond our past limits. We can change our lives, change our relationships. But it has to start somewhere. It has to start with our decision and then be followed with action. We have to go beyond wishing and thinking. And beyond waiting for someone else to make the first move.

If you have a prompting in your spirit (or if you’re being awakened in the night to get your attention), I encourage you to listen, to take it to heart, and to take action.