When Love Becomes a Life
Welcome home
He tends His flock like a shepherd. He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those that have young. Is. 40:11
Dearest Daughters,
If we are called to be our children’s first windows to God, reflections of His love, then how do we mother in a way that shows them His face?
If God is love, and we are made in His image, then we, too, must become love. Not a vague feeling, but a living, breathing presence in our children’s daily lives. They must not only be loved by us; they must see that love radiating through us in how we speak, how we serve, how we forgive, and how we endure.
If they are to understand the comfort of God, they must first feel it rocking in our arms.
In Isaiah 66, the Lord says, “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.” God Himself compares His tenderness to the way a mother carries her baby on her hip and bounces him on her knees (Isa. 66:12-13).
If our children are to experience God’s attentiveness, they must see it in how we listen. The Psalms say the Lord bends low to hear our cries (Ps. 116:2). Do they see us do the same?
We must be His hands—clothing, feeding, holding, comforting.
If God is holy, then holiness must be more than rules or rituals. It must shape how we live: how we carry ourselves in unnoticed places, how we speak when no one is listening, how we repent when God deals with us, how we show reverence in the hidden parts of the day.
If God is powerful, let our children see His strength most clearly in our weakness. In how we keep showing up. In how we rise with joy even when we’re tired. In how we lift our heads after He reproves us. A mother who leans on God allows His strength to become visible. Anointing takes the place of exhaustion. Faith steadies fear. Grace rises again after failure.
If God is mighty to save, then we reflect that might when we stand firm, when we go to war against every thought, every attitude, every distraction that seeks to harm our children’s hearts. This is how they begin to know that God is a rescuer.
Even science confirms what Scripture has always said: a mother’s presence in the early years is not sentimental, it is essential. God created the brain as surely as He created the soul, and everything in its design echoes what we know in our spirit—that children need closeness, stability, and responsiveness in order to thrive.
During the first three years of life, the brain forms more than a million neural connections per second. Those early interactions shape not just emotion, but learning, language, resilience, even identity. A mother’s presence is not a luxury. It is how God made the human soul to grow.
This calling is sacred. It is not only spiritual, but physiological. And it begins with you.
I want to tell you a story I can’t forget.
Years ago, your dad and I were driving home late one night down Halbert Lane. Just ahead of us, the car in front hit a raccoon cub, one of three trailing behind their mother. It didn’t yet die, but it was wounded and immobilized, crying on the pavement.
We slammed the brakes, trying not to hit the others, and watched as the scene unfolded in our headlights.
The mother had already crossed the road with her two surviving babies. But when she saw our headlights, she paused.
Then she did something that moved me to tears.
She ran back into the oncoming traffic.
She darted into the road, grabbed the injured cub, still crying, still writhing, and dragged it to the side of the road where she huddled with all three little ones.
I lay awake that night thinking about her. Not because I’m sentimental about raccoons (they’ve raided our eggs enough times, as you well know), but because I couldn’t stop thinking about that mothering instinct, that single-minded, God-given drive to preserve life no matter the cost.
If an animal can stare into the face of danger and still run out to save her young, what must God have placed inside the heart of a human mother? What strength? What courage? What zealous fire did He entrust to us?
I want that fire. I want to be the kind of woman who sees the onslaught of the world and still steps out into the road, believing God will help me carry my children to safety.
You may ask yourself, Why do I want to be a mother?
I believe there are three reasons why women choose this path.
The first is the challenge. A primal knowing that your body was made to bear life. A deep curiosity: Can I do it? Do I have what it takes?
The second is purpose—a sense that motherhood is not incidental but eternal. As Christians, we believe God continues His work through families. When we raise children, we don’t just build homes; we build the Kingdom. Passing on belief and conviction becomes an act of faith.
And then there is the third reason—love.
I’m not talking about love in theory, but love that reshapes you, a love that stretches, grows, humbles, and transfigures you.
When I was newly engaged, I believe it was primarily the first two reasons that drew me to motherhood. I wanted children—maybe a few—and I felt both the challenge and the purpose.
Could I really do it?
But once I held my first child—you, Helen—everything changed.
That third reason—love—took over, consuming me. It transformed me.
I realized I had never known the full capacity of my heart until I became a mother. Something in me awakened. I wanted to go to the farthest edges of love, to discover how far it could stretch and how deep it could reach. I wanted to increase love—in myself, in others, in the world around me.
I wanted to show my children what love looks like when it is lived, when it grows from the soil of surrender and sends down deep roots into the soul of a mother. I know I haven’t done this perfectly, but I have been utterly changed by trying my best.
After twenty-seven years of mothering, I can tell you this: Motherhood will ask more of you than you ever expected. But it will give you back more than you ever knew you could hold.
Now it’s your turn. Let the holy fire of godly motherhood burn bright in you.
With all my love,
Mom
