My dad was a great man, and I loved him, but he had some demons

In the words of Dabo Swinney, “My dad was a great man, and I loved him, but he had some demons he fought. It was tough to see some of those things as a kid, but I believe God doesn’t save you from things; He saves you through them.” These words are not merely a reflection on childhood or faith — they are a meditation on the mystery of suffering, the redemptive power of love, and the strength that is born from endurance. Swinney, who rose from hardship to triumph as one of the most respected coaches in American football, speaks here as both son and believer. He acknowledges the brokenness of his past, not with bitterness, but with reverence — for through that brokenness, he found the hand of God, not as a shield that prevented pain, but as a light that guided him through it.

The origin of this quote lies in Swinney’s own life story. Born in Alabama, he grew up in poverty, marked by instability and the shadow of his father’s struggles with alcoholism. Yet even as he witnessed pain and disappointment, Swinney’s heart remained steadfast. His father, though imperfect, was still his hero — a man he loved deeply. The demons that plagued his father did not erase his humanity, nor did they destroy the love between them. When Swinney speaks of being “saved through things,” he is recalling those long years when faith did not remove his burdens but gave him strength to carry them. It is a truth that few learn easily — that God’s grace is not the absence of struggle, but the presence of endurance.

When he says, “God doesn’t save you from things; He saves you through them,” Swinney reveals one of the deepest paradoxes of spiritual wisdom. Many pray for deliverance — for storms to cease, for pain to vanish, for darkness to flee. Yet often, deliverance comes not by escape, but by passage. The divine hand does not lift us over the valley; it walks beside us within it. To be saved through something is to be transformed by it — to find courage in fear, wisdom in loss, compassion in pain. This is the ancient rhythm of life: that the soul grows not in comfort, but in trial; not in sunshine alone, but in the rain that nourishes unseen roots.

The ancients knew this truth well. Consider Joseph, son of Jacob, cast into a pit by his brothers and sold into slavery. He begged for rescue, but it did not come swiftly. Instead, he endured betrayal, imprisonment, and despair — and through those sufferings, he was shaped into the man who would one day save his family and his nation from famine. God did not save Joseph from the pit; He saved him through it. In the same way, Swinney’s hardships — the pain of seeing his father’s weakness, the poverty of his youth, the uncertainty of his future — became the forge that tempered his faith and his leadership. From that suffering emerged compassion, humility, and a quiet strength that no victory or fame could ever teach.

When Swinney speaks of his father’s demons, he also speaks of forgiveness — the ability to love what is flawed, to see grace in imperfection. The world often teaches us to hide our scars, to reject the broken. But he shows that love, when rooted in faith, does not demand perfection. It sees the wounded man and the divine image within him both at once. His father’s failures became not a curse, but a lesson: that every soul carries a battle unseen, and that we must meet others with the same compassion we ourselves hope to receive. To love through pain is to understand God’s own love — steadfast, unconditional, and redemptive.

The lesson, then, is clear: when life brings suffering, do not despair that God has abandoned you. The storm is not proof of His absence; it is the path through which His presence becomes real. Every hardship, every heartbreak, every long night of doubt carries within it the seed of transformation. To be saved through something is to emerge not unscathed, but renewed — wiser, humbler, stronger, and more alive to the pain and beauty of the world. As Swinney’s life proves, faith is not a shield from struggle, but a compass that guides us through it.

So, my children of the present age, take these words to heart. When trials come — and they will — do not cry out only for escape, but for strength. Ask not, “Why must I suffer?” but, “What is this pain teaching me?” Remember that even the darkest night holds stars invisible to those who will not look up. Like Dabo Swinney, let your wounds become your wisdom, your trials your teachers, and your faith your fire. For God may not lift you from the storm — but if you walk with courage and trust, He will surely save you through it.