‘When my world fell apart, the church loved us back to life’

A world champion father, a childhood shattered by addiction, and the pain of betrayal. Emma Fowle shares the remarkable story of how the radical love of a local church held her family together and ultimately led them all to Jesus

I was 13 years old when, in November 1990, my dad walked out on us for the first time. 

My parents had been teenage sweethearts and, up until that point, my home life had seemed happy and secure. Dad was a world champion powerlifter and owned his own building company. We had a holiday home in Spain and a red Escort XR3i on the drive. 

Mine was an easy – if slightly unusual – childhood. Life largely revolved around Dad’s competitions and training schedules but, like the families of many elite athletes, we understood the sacrifices required to reach the upper echelons of sporting glory – and we were happy to make them. Dad was a seventeen and a half stone powerlifter who could lift more than three times his own bodyweight. He was the shining star around which we all orbited gladly. There was never any question of ‘my dad’s harder than your dad’ in the school playground. It was always my dad, and I loved him for it.