His name was Julio Melgar Martinez. But to describe him simply as my father would never be enough. He was my father, but he was also a best friend. He was a coach when you needed direction. A counselor when your heart was broken. A pastor when your spirit needed encouragement. A friend when you felt alone. A loving husband. A beloved grandfather. And above everything else, he was a servant of Jesus Christ. My father had a gift that cannot be taught. He could walk into a room filled with important people—CEOs, professionals, leaders—and speak with confidence and wisdom. But he could just as easily sit beside a farmer, a homeless person, someone struggling with addiction, or someone who felt forgotten by society, and make that person feel just as important. Because to my father, a soul was a soul. Titles did not impress him. Money did not determine someone's value. The clothes someone wore did not determine whether they deserved respect. He understood that every person standing before him had been created by God. And he knew how to meet people exactly where they were. My father preached the Gospel in churches, on the radio, and on television. He would sit behind a microphone as a radio talk host and speak words of encouragement, wisdom, faith, and hope. He stood before cameras and preached Jesus Christ without shame. But some of his greatest sermons were never preached behind a pulpit. Some were preached under bridges. Some were preached on streets. Some were preached beside cardboard boxes where families were trying to survive. Some were preached over a hot cup of coffee and a piece of bread. My father would go into the trenches where many people were afraid or unwilling to go. He would find children living in poverty and bring them brand-new toys and clothes. He would find families without homes and remind them that somebody still cared. He would go underneath bridges and feed people who were homeless. He would hand someone a hot cup of coffee, give them something to eat, pray with them, look them in the eyes, and remind them: “Jesus loves you.” And he didn't just say those words. He showed them. He showed people the love of Jesus with his hands, his feet, his time, his resources, his prayers, and his life. There were people struggling with drugs who encountered freedom. There were prostitutes and people living lives they thought they could never escape who discovered that God had not forgotten them. There were broken marriages, broken families, broken hearts, and broken people who found hope because Julio allowed himself to be used by God. And only Heaven knows how many lives were truly touched. There were countless hours of counseling. Sometimes face-to-face. Sometimes over the telephone. Sometimes when he probably should have been resting. But when someone called and said, “Pastor, I need help,” he listened. He understood that his life belonged to God and that God had given him an assignment. And when Julio Melgar Martinez believed God had given him something to do, he did it with everything he had. He served with passion. He preached with passion. He counseled with passion. He loved with passion. He lived with passion. Doors seemed to open everywhere he went. God allowed him to meet people from many walks of life. He experienced financial blessings, opportunities, television, radio, ministry, travel, and connections—but I believe one of the greatest riches God ever gave him was something money could never purchase: People loved him. He was rich in relationships. Rich in memories. Rich in laughter. Rich in people whose lives had been changed. And rich in a family that loved him dearly. My father was also a man who knew how to enjoy life. He had good taste. He liked good clothes. He liked good music. And he definitely loved his action movies. Those of us who knew him can probably hear his voice quoting those classic lines From Terminator: “I'll be back.” Or one of his Rambo lines: “Have a good day, huh?” That was Dad. He could preach the Gospel one moment and make everybody laugh the next. And whenever life became difficult, he had his own famous motto: “No happen nothing.” Those words may have sounded simple, but they described the way he lived. Don't panic. Don't give up. Keep moving. Keep trusting God. Everything is going to be all right. Dad was positive. He refused to allow darkness to have the final word. And even when his own body became tired, his faith remained alive. He loved music. He loved to sing. But most importantly, he loved singing to the Lord. And today, although we can no longer hear his voice the way we once did, I can only imagine that the man who spent so much of his life singing about Jesus is now in the presence of the One he spent his life singing about. The pastor has met the Shepherd. The preacher has met the One he preached about. The counselor has met the Wonderful Counselor. The servant has gone home to his Master. And the man who told so many people about Heaven has now finished his journey here on earth. The Bible says in 2 Timothy 4:7: “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” Dad, you fought your fight. You finished your course. You kept your faith. And you left footprints behind that death cannot erase. Every person you fed is part of your legacy. Every child you gave a toy to is part of your legacy. Every homeless person you prayed for is part of your legacy. Every addict who found freedom is part of your legacy. Every person who heard you preach on television or radio is part of your legacy. Every person you counseled at two or three in the morning is part of your legacy. Every song you sang to Jesus is part of your legacy. Every sermon you preached is part of your legacy. Every grandchild you loved is part of your legacy. And we, your family, are your legacy. You taught us that family matters. You taught us to serve. You taught us to love people regardless of where they came from. You taught us not to look down on anyone. And even toward the end of your journey, your message remained simple: Family. Jesus. Love. Those three words summarize the life of Julio Melgar Martinez. Family. Because he knew that after the crowds went home and the microphones were turned off, family was precious. Jesus. Because Jesus was not merely something he preached about. Jesus was the foundation of his life and ministry. And love. Because love is what caused him to leave the comfort of his home and go under bridges. Love made him answer the telephone. Love made him counsel for hours. Love made him pray for strangers. Love made him give. Love made him serve. And love is what remains here today. Dad, I don't know how to fit an entire lifetime into one goodbye. How do you say goodbye to your father? How do you say goodbye to your friend? How do you say goodbye to the man whose voice you expected to hear, whose jokes you knew, whose advice you depended upon, and whose presence had simply become part of life? Maybe we don't. Maybe instead we say: Thank you. Thank you, Dad, for every prayer. Thank you for every lesson. Thank you for every laugh. Thank you for every sacrifice nobody saw. Thank you for every person you helped. Thank you for loving your family. Thank you for loving your grandchildren. Thank you for showing us what it means to serve your neighbor. Thank you for preaching Jesus. Thank you for being our pastor. Thank you for being our counselor. Thank you for being our coach. Thank you for being our friend. And from the deepest part of my heart...Thank you for being my father. There will never be another Julio Melgar Martinez. But because of the seeds he planted, pieces of him will continue living in all of us. So Dad, today I will borrow one of those action-movie lines you loved so much. Maybe this isn't goodbye. Maybe, through Jesus Christ, it's simply: “I'll be back.” Because our faith tells us that for those who belong to Christ, death does not get the final word. So until we meet again, Dad...We will keep serving. We will keep helping people. We will keep loving our neighbors. We will keep preaching Jesus. We will take care of the family you loved so much. And whenever life becomes difficult, I know some of us will hear your voice reminding us: “No happen nothing.” Keep going. Keep believing. Keep loving. Keep Jesus first. Rest now, Dad.Your work here is finished. Your family loves you.Y our grandchildren love you. The people whose lives you touched will never forget you. And I will forever be proud to say: That amazing man was my father. Pastor Julio Melgar Martinez. A husband.A father. A grandfather. A pastor. A counselor. A radio host. A preacher. A singer. A friend to the forgotten. A servant of the people. And most importantly...A servant of Jesus Christ. Until we see you again. Family. Jesus. Love. That was your message. And that will forever be your legacy.