People often laugh when they hear that I have eight children, and their surprise deepens when I reveal that I never intended to have children. I typically respond with a smile and state, “I would choose them all again if given the opportunity.” But I often say that raising eight kids has been both the hardest and most purpose-filled thing I’ve ever done. Being a father has taught me more about patience than I could read in any self-help book. It reshaped the way I see life, love, and what really matters.

Patience Isn’t Just Waiting—It’s Staying Present

Before I had kids, I saw patience as not getting mad when something took too long. But now I see it as staying grounded when everything feels like it’s falling apart. It’s sitting through meltdowns while staying calm and avoiding matching their energy. It’s repeating directions for the fifth time because someone got distracted by a squirrel. It’s waiting for growth to occur even when it is not visible yet.

Yeah, I have days when I want to rush it all and just get through the chaos and be able to breathe. But kids don’t grow well when we rush them. Neither do we. Patience, I’ve learned, is choosing to show up even when the noise, the mess, and the emotions make you want to walk out.

Each Child Has Their Own World and Map

Eight kids mean eight entirely different minds, personalities, strengths, triggers, and needs. What works for one, I can guarantee it won’t work for another. Some need a calm conversation. Others need humor. A few need space. And no matter how worn out I am, they all need consistency.

Fatherhood has taught me to listen to what they mean, not just what they say. Sometimes silence says more than words. Sometimes anger hides fear, and you need to take a big step back and take a different look. The child who seems to reject you the most. Probably needs you the most.

Learning each child’s map is going to be exhausting, but it’s also a privilege. It means I get to help guide them, not mold them.

Patience Doesn’t Mean Perfection

I will not lie; there were days I lost it. I yelled. I said the wrong thing. I took my stress out on the wrong person. For a long time, I thought being patient meant never breaking. But I’ve realized real patience is about how you come back after you do.

But I would go for a walk. I would own up to what I did and apologize and admit it was wrong. It is I who shows my children that adults also make mistakes and that our love is still there despite them. I lead by example by modeling how to repair instead of retreat.

My children have demonstrated grace to me more times than I likely deserved, thereby teaching me the true meaning of grace.

Purpose Looks Different Than I Expected

When I was younger, I thought purpose meant achieving something big, like having a career that mattered or doing something that changed lives. Funny thing is, I’m doing that every day, even if it’s not glamorous, but I still show up and do it every day.

Purpose looks like showing up for school meetings, cooking dinner, helping with homework, and sitting through late-night talks about heartbreak or friendship drama. It’s being present and there when someone needs to be picked up after a difficult day.

My purpose isn’t just to raise kids. It’s about raising good humans who will go into the world and hopefully make it a little kinder.

Parenting puts up a mirror you never expected. It reflects the parts of me that remained broken. I wasn’t past all the things I thought I had dealt with and believed I was beyond. They all resurfaced through my interactions with my kids. Their behaviors, their pain, and their struggles reflected on my own. But instead of running from that, I’ve learned to use it to help them and myself.

Therapy, reflection, and my recovery have helped me be a better dad, but my kids have been the real teachers. They’ve shown me that healing isn’t a straight line and that love can exist right alongside frustration, grief, and exhaustion.

They’ve made me face my own past so I could give them a better future.

The Big Picture

While patience and purpose may seem noble, they truly blossom from the small things in life. Every morning routine, every challenging conversation, and every “I love you” at bedtime, even when you’re exhausted, truly nurtures patience and purpose.

Raising eight kids has shown me that the most meaningful parts of life often come disguised as chaos. It is in the noise, the chaos, and the laughter and chatter at the dining table. It is in constant motion that I’ve found the deepest sense of who I am and why I’m here.

If I could go back, I wouldn’t change it. Every challenge, every lesson, every moment of chaos has been worth it.

Ultimately, observing the faces around the dinner table, including the grumpy ones, reminds me that patience goes beyond waiting. It embodies love by waiting patiently.

And my purpose? It’s right there, looking back at me.