“Trust in the LORD with all your heart; and lean not on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”
Proverbs 3:5–6

Dearest Daughters,

Last week we discussed the beauty of becoming a mother, the change of identity. I would like to continue along the vein of new babies and new mommies.

Everything wonderful and beautiful comes with its challenges, and babies are no different. So let’s talk about the immediate postpartum phase for a minute here. What is going on in your body, and what is going on in your baby?

Physical recovery from a birth is not something that should be taken lightly or flippantly. Now, every birth isn’t the same, and some births certainly require more time for physical recovery than others. But in all of them, even the easiest births, you need to pay attention, because more is going on than you realize.

That amazing wonder organ, the placenta, that has been present in your body for the past nine months, has just left. And this has more of a bearing on you than you might think.

The placenta is a marvel. It functions as so many organs for the baby. It takes the place of the lungs. It’s also the filter, functioning for the kidneys and the liver. It’s feeding the baby and doing the work of the digestive tract.

But what it does for you is that it produces estrogen and progesterone, two of the primary female hormones. And when that organ evacuates your body, your body literally drops off of a hormonal cliff!

This can cause anxiousness, night sweats, painful cramps, and intense mood swings. You might find yourself crying over everything and nothing.

I had a beautiful birth. I love my baby. Why am I crying? I’m so happy, yet I can’t stop crying!

Your kids come to visit, and you’re convinced that they hate you, that they have completely backslidden from every bit of training you’ve poured into them. You may look at your own body and think it’s ugly. And you’ve just metamorphosed into the local Dairy Queen! All these things may be whirling through your mind.

The feelings are real; I’ll acknowledge that. We can expect them, because the hormonal waterfall has just dried up in an instant!

However, the perspectives are not real.

So don’t take your thoughts and feelings too seriously in those first days and even weeks after a birth. This is all part of the process and probably God’s way of helping us to rest a little more.

Because on top of the hormonal crash, you’re exhausted. You’re getting up all night. You’re quite sore. Your body has just gone through an enormous physical event, and you’ve got that little baby to care for, so don’t become overwhelmed and despondent.

The Scriptures tell us that a woman will be “saved through childbearing.” I think that Scripture can mean a lot of things, but one of the things I’ve thought about is that childbearing can teach us to trust in God and in others—anything besides our own perspective—and we all need to learn to do that!

Someday we’re going to be old and feeble. We will then need even more trust for others and God. Postpartum changes can provide a meaningful step along our journey of increasing trust, teaching us to surrender in a new way. So don’t become defeated when you feel those attitudes and moods. Say to yourself, That’s my hormones talking.

Those hormonal changes can produce what some call “the baby blues”: the crying, the mood swings, anxiousness, and emotional vulnerability that are frequent in the first days after birth. But if those feelings become severe, or continue rather than beginning to dissipate, reach out for help. Some of these health struggles are difficult, and asking for help is part of learning to trust and to allowing yourself to be loved.

We can fortify ourselves during this vulnerable time by being prepared, by trusting others, and by binding satan. He loves to ride in on our weaknesses, on our hormones, on our fatigue, and we don’t have to let him.

Allow yourself to be cared for and loved by your friends and family. Accept help and embrace relationships, both in that season of postpartum recovery and ahead of time in anticipation of it.

Don’t be shy to reach out for help if you need it, to hear another perspective and another angle.

Drinking plenty of water is also vital during this period of time as your body adjusts, recovers, and, if you’re breastfeeding, begins producing milk. Plenty of rest is an absolute necessity.

Give yourself to your baby, to lying down and snuggling and just observing your beautiful new infant. Pay attention to their needs, to the changes in them. Admire them openly and speak peace into your own heart and into theirs.

And what’s going on in your baby? They’re learning to acclimate to a world outside of the womb!

They’ve gone from living surrounded by water, receiving oxygen through the placenta, to living in air and breathing with their own lungs. Their nervous system is still immature, which is why they’re constantly moving, startling, flailing their little arms, and sometimes slugging themselves in the face.

They haven’t yet learned what is day and what is night, so don’t get in a rush.

Help them make this transition as gently as possible, giving them a peaceful, dark night, soothing music to put them to sleep, your voice to bring them comfort, and breastfeeding to nourish them, comfort them, and help protect their developing immune system.

It’s really a lovely season, but everything lovely comes with a price, and it only makes it more valuable.

So don’t get caught in the mire of the challenges!

Look forward to the brand-new and beautiful relationship that is just beginning.

With all my love,
Mom

Dearest Daughters,

Well, today begins a new series! I’d like to spend the next few weeks talking about one of my favorite topics—babies!

The much loved Christmas song that we often sing says, A baby changes everything. I know it’s speaking of our Lord Jesus, but it’s drawn from what we all know is true of every baby.

I’d like to share something I wrote in A Time to Be Born about the life change I went through when you, Helen, were born:

And I was in love. But more than that, I felt like a window had opened, a light had come on, and I was seeing life and love in some ways for the first time. I was seeing myself for the first time—my own vulnerability, but also previously untapped strengths. I was seeing your dad—his empathy, his steadiness, his love—in ways I’d never seen before.

And every other identity seemed to shed off of me like an old skin. I was a mother.

In one moment, I had become a missionary, and the mission field was your heart, Helen. I had become a nurse, and my charge was to care for your little body and soul. I’d become a teacher, and my student was you. I’d become a prophetess, and the one who needed vision from me was you.

This was not the mundane drudgery I had once imagined motherhood to be, a thing you hurried through in your youth and strength so that someday you could go on to greater things. No, this was the GREAT thing. This was my calling, but even more, it had become who I was.

If I could say anything to mothers-to-be and brand-new moms, I would tell them: Embrace the identity.

Every time you cuddle that little infant, whisper to yourself, I am a mother. Every time you get up in the middle of the night for a feeding, let that sacrifice strip away every lesser identity as you enter into one of the highest callings He’s given humanity. Become your baby’s mother.

This brings me to a few practical thoughts.

Skin-to-skin contact is precious and important, especially in the first moments after birth. Hold your baby, and let them feel you, smell you, hear your heartbeat, and study your face. A newborn sees best at about fourteen to eighteen inches away, the perfect distance to gaze into the face of the one God has made to love them first—you!

Whenever possible, keep your newborn with you. You can swaddle them and hold them in your arms or carry them in a body wrap even while you accomplish other tasks. Those bonding hours are actually forming brain pathways, emotional security, and deep attachment that will shape their future life.

With you, Helen, I was never out of the same space with you until you were five months old. There have certainly been seasons with some of my other children when illness or circumstances required something different. Motherhood is full of unpredictable twists and turns, but as much as possible, I’ve tried to remain close to my babies, because I believe those hours together are among the most important (and wonderful) work we do.

Talk to your newborn from the very first day. Even though they don’t yet understand your words, they recognize your voice, understand your love, your delight, your comfort. Use different tones of voice. Laugh with them. Sing to them. Speak comfort and peace to them, and let them also hear joy in your voice. Even read to them! Long before they understand language, they are learning to love and be loved.

Breastfeeding is a wonderful bonding opportunity, so try not to miss a single feed. Notice their rooting and sucking cues. Even if they’re not hungry, they may be indicating that they need some bonding time.

Each cuddle, each feeding and each incoherent baby conversation is building the foundation of their little heart and their future life. You are constructing the emotional foundation upon which they will stand for the rest of their lives.

So try not rush through these early days! Hold them often, and speak to them constantly. Take immense joy in these brief moments of babyhood! And as you do, you are becoming their mother, just as they are growing into childhood.

With all my love,

Mom

“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly… Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another.”1 Peter 4:8-10

Dearest Daughters,

As we bring our six-week focus on housekeeping tips to a close, I want to leave you with one more practical skill, but above all, with a few final perspectives on homemaking itself.

The practical skill is one I learned years ago from Sink Reflections by the FlyLady. I may have altered it a bit over the past two decades, but this is the way I adapted it in my own home. She had much good advice, some which fit my lifestyle and some did not. But this one has been part of my housekeeping ever since.

Take two bags, one for trash and one for giving away to charity, Goodwill, or a neighbor. You might even add a third bag for a garage sale or fundraiser. Then set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes and head into the closet, dresser, pantry, or storage area you want to tackle. See how full you can get those bags before the timer rings.

I especially loved doing this in the fall with the children’s toys. Christmas was coming, relatives would soon be sending gifts, and I wanted their toy bins to have room to not overflow! I’d quickly gather broken toys for the trash, toys they had long outgrown or no longer enjoyed for the giveaway bag, and occasionally a few nicer items for a garage sale.

It was amazing how much lighter the room felt simply from removing the excess!

Although I usually set the timer for only ten or fifteen minutes, I often found myself finishing the entire project, or at least accomplishing far more than I expected.

The same method worked beautifully with my own closet. Perhaps not the entire closet at once, but one section at a time. One day the dresser drawers. Another day the upper shelf. Another day the hanging clothes. Pull everything out, don’t be afraid of the temporary mess, and sort quickly into the three bags.

You’d be surprised how much can be accomplished in fifteen focused minutes. An entire child’s dresser can often be finished in that time. I found I could usually do about a quarter of my own closet, and since Dad and I share one closet, that meant nearly half of one person’s belongings. Two short sessions in a day, and most of the closet was finished.

I’ve even used this method in the pantry, the kitchen cupboards, and storage sheds. It’s a wonderfully refreshing way to declutter without feeling overwhelmed.

But now, let me leave you with what matters most. Do not look at housekeeping as a job to get through. Look at it as membership in a community of homemakers—a community you have the privilege of joining.

It may take a little Olympic training to reach your goals, but you made it into the club. Hallelujah!

Homemaking is not about who has the cleanest house or the prettiest decorations, but about who has created a home: a place of peace, love, welcome, and belonging.

Ironically, when that becomes your goal, your house often becomes cleaner as well. More importantly, it becomes a place where your husband can rest, your children can flourish, and your guests can find peace and friendship.

And please, never compare yourselves among yourselves. As I mentioned in an earlier letter, there are seasons when homes are naturally more cluttered than others. A house full of toddlers may stay tidy for only a few moments at a time, perhaps only while everyone is asleep. An empty nest may remain orderly for days, but both can be beautiful seasons.

Do not judge your sisters, and they will not judge you. Instead, build a sisterhood, a community of homemakers who encourage and support one another through every season of life.

I think of the words of that wonderful song:

“All of my life, in every season, You are still God. I have a reason to sing. I have a reason to worship.”

Let Him be Lord of every season, of the attitudes and the atmosphere of your home, and in time He will also become Lord of the tidiness, the meals, the schedule, and the countless ordinary tasks that make up a faithful life, because you are on a journey with Him, and the goal is up ahead!

I love you all.

I pray you discover the deep joy that can only be found in making a true home.

Welcome to the community of homemakers!

Love,
Mom

“They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.” Acts 2:46

Dearest Daughters,

Well, here we are at week five of our six weeks of housekeeping tips. Today I’d like to talk about meal planning.

Now, for me, cooking is an art, and one that I truly love. There have been many evenings when I’ve cooked simply because it relaxes me. As I’ve gotten older, standing for long periods has become a bit harder on my back, so I tend to cook in shorter bursts now. Even so, I recognize that my perspective may be different from someone who finds cooking intimidating or exhausting.

The truth is, I’ve had those times, too. There were seasons when I was homeschooling three children while simultaneously raising three preschoolers. During those years, simply getting everyone fed and through the day felt like an accomplishment. So today I’d especially like to speak to those seasons, because they are often the ones in which we need the most encouragement.

The first thing I want you to remember is this:

Meals are memories.

Yes, people may remember the savory soup or the fluffy, fresh bread. But far more than the food itself, they will remember the feeling around the table. Was there laughter? Was there peace? Did they feel welcomed and loved?

So make that your primary goal. Come to the table with joy even for beans and rice! Come with gratitude, when there are only PBJs! And if simplifying the meal allows you to preserve a peaceful spirit, then simplify the meal. A simple supper served with love is far better than a complicated feast served with frustration and anxiety.

After that, yes, make the food tasty. And make it beautiful if you’re able, because beauty is one of God’s gifts and an expression of Him. But those are secondary goals. Relationship and love come first.

Meal planning is essential, especially during busy school seasons.

Once a week, sit down and make a menu for that week. Even if you don’t follow it perfectly, you’ll know what ingredients you need and won’t spend every afternoon wondering what to make.

Personally, I like a little flexibility. I often planned only four meals and left the other three days open for leftovers, unexpected company, or whatever happened to be coming in from the garden. Whether you plan four days or seven, simply having a plan removes an enormous amount of daily stress.

Whenever possible, think about tomorrow’s meal the night before. Take meat out of the freezer. Grind your wheat if you mill your own flour. Prepare whatever you can ahead of time.

Then remember that preparing meals is also part of breaking bread together.

The Bible doesn’t simply tell us to eat together. It tells us to “break bread” together. There’s something beautiful about the family taking part in the preparation.

I love setting a toddler on the counter with a little lump of dough. My toddlers rolled out many funny-looking biscuits or pie crusts over the years, and although they certainly weren’t perfect, they were “helping,” and making memories. Another child could grate cheese, and another wash vegetables while another can stand at the sink and wash dishes.

While dinner was coming together, so were relationships!

Instead of asking, How can I get this meal finished as quickly as possible? maybe ask, How many memories can we make and relationships can we build while we prepare it?

A friend of mine recently suggested having a regular breakfast assigned to each day of the week—granola on Monday, bagels on Tuesday, waffles on Wednesday, and so on. I never fully adopted that system, but I think it’s an excellent idea.

We did have our traditions. Saturday was “Pancake Saturday.” When our church services were in the afternoon, Sunday was “Brunch Sunday.”

We kept breakfasts simple for school mornings: homemade granola with yogurt, oatmeal, or bagels with cream cheese. They were nourishing, quick to prepare, easy to clean up afterward, and simple enough that you children could gradually learn to make them yourselves.

Simple breakfasts make wonderful training grounds for young cooks! A child can learn to stir oatmeal, toast bagels, scramble eggs, or flip pancakes long before they’re ready to prepare an entire dinner.

When it comes to company meals, I enjoy putting in a little extra thought. This doesn’t necessarily mean making something complicated. In fact, I think simple meals are often the best for larger crowds.

A pot of chili becomes something special when served with warm corn muffins, a crisp green salad, a sprinkle of cheese and cilantro, a wedge of lime resting on the edge of the bowl, and perhaps a roasted pepper garnish adding a splash of color. Those little touches tell your guests, You mattered enough for me to think about this.

When cooking for a large crowd, don’t hesitate to let others help. People often enjoy contributing. Let them bring the simple, inexpensive parts of the meal so they don’t feel burdened, and allow yourself to receive their kindness. Hospitality isn’t always best carried on one set of shoulders!

Finally, add thoughtful details like lighting a candle. Perhaps lay a flower across the table. Fold your napkins nicely. Use cloth napkin rings if you have them. None of these things are expensive or difficult, but they communicate care. In the end, that’s what hospitality has always been about: building relationships and making memories.

This is breaking bread together. Don’t ever forget that!

I love you!

Mom

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

Dearest Daughters,

As we continue our journey through housekeeping tips, tools, and graces, I thought I’d tackle a few more today: scheduling, deep cleaning closets and drawers, and quick cleanups with the kids.

When I first got married, I loved to schedule every minute of the day, every day of the week, and every week of the month. I think putting it all down on paper somehow made me feel in control of everything.

The problem is, when you schedule every fifteen minutes and you are a midwife, a pastor’s wife, growing a garden, raising animals, and raising lots of little children, you discover you’re a failure every fifteen minutes, because life doesn’t fit into fifteen-minute boxes!

There may be places and seasons for scheduling every fifteen minutes, but a full family life in an agrarian lifestyle doesn’t seem to be one of them, as far as I can tell.

As long as I had that schedule in place, I felt like a failure, and I also felt I was giving you children the impression that you were failures.

“It’s 8:15, and we don’t have the laundry on the next load yet.” Well, it wasn’t quite dry yet. And on and on it went.

One day I had a revelation. Our days really revolved around landmark moments. Breakfast at 8:00. Family devotions at 8:30. Lunch at 1:00. Dinner at 6:00. Bedtime at 8:30. Those were the anchors of the day. Instead of piecemeal scheduling, I began saying, “We want this much accomplished by breakfast.”

Everyone should come to breakfast with beds made, hair combed, teeth brushed, and animal chores finished. Everyone should come to family devotions with their places cleared from the table. By lunchtime, we accomplished family reading, Bible, math, and spelling.

During nap time, I worked one-on-one with the high school students. Before bed, we all tidied the rooms.

This method of scheduling brought so much more grace and flexibility to our home. It even gave the older children more responsibility to organize the spaces between those landmark moments in whatever way suited them best.

As they grew older, I would even give them entire weeks. As long as they appeared faithfully at those landmark moments and had completed a certain lesson in math or another assignment by week’s end, they could organize their time however they wished.

The more responsibility they demonstrated, the more responsibility I gave.

Another thing that brought grace to me was realizing that deep cleaning didn’t all have to happen twice a year in one exhausting marathon.

Instead, as we moved toward those seasons, I would look for opportunities to deep clean one drawer or one section of a closet.

As a midwife, healthcare provider, and pastor’s wife, I’ve spent a great deal of time on the phone, but I didn’t want that to deprive my housekeeping. So I would set the phone on speaker beside me on the bed, pull open a drawer, and dump out its contents while I talked. By the time the conversation ended, one little corner of the house had been restored to order.

It was a freeing realization that two good things could happen at once!

Another quick cleanup tool came recently from a dear friend of mine, Becca Groves.

Whenever she needed the kitchen, living room, or schoolroom picked up quickly, she would gather all the children together and secretly choose one item among the clutter to be the prize item. Whoever happened to pick up that item would receive a reward—a little money prize or some other treat. No one knew which object it was.

Was it the glue? The scissors? The notebook? The shoe? The sock?

Since no one knew, everyone eagerly picked up as many things as they possibly could.

At the end she would announce, “The prize item was the scissors!” or “The prize item was the notebook!” Whoever had picked it up won the prize.

I thought that was such a clever idea.

I’ve played similar games with you children over the years. Sometimes we’d simply see who could pick up the most things.

Other times I’d divide the jobs.

“Ari, you put away all the toys.”

“Nicolas, you put away all the laundry.”

“I’ll, gather all the books.”

Then we’d race to see who finished first.

Little games like these help make housekeeping feel more like family fun than chores, because after all, that’s really the goal. That we would be a family. That we would work together.

God has given us all these ordinary responsibilities as places where we can meet Him, connect one to another, and discover Him in His creation.

So let’s not forget what it’s all about.

With all my love,

Mom

By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures. Proverbs 24:3–4

Dearest Daughters,

As we continue our journey through housekeeping, solutions, and graces, I think there is a perspective that must change in each of us, and if it does, it greatly simplifies both family life and housekeeping.

To put it simply, running a household is not a linear thing. It’s a spatial and relational thing.

In other words, you can’t simply make a list numbered “one, two, three” and expect to accomplish everything in that order. If you look at your day that way, your list will stretch a mile long, and if you believe you must finish one thing before beginning the next, your work will never end.

A household simply doesn’t function like that, any more than a human body could function by lining up all its parts in a row. Everything works together.

I can’t tell you how many spelling tests or dictation lessons I’ve given while kneading a loaf of bread or chopping carrots. I don’t have to finish one before I begin the other.

In reality, far more than a spelling test and chopping vegetables are taking place. A relationship is growing between a mother and her child. The child may be subconsciously learning to cook. Methods of cleaning are being observed as I wipe down the counter. A toddler may be playing quietly at my feet, learning patience while I teach an older sibling. Meanwhile, a loaf of bread is already baking in the oven, and a pot of water is coming to a boil for noodles on the stove.

When we learn to see how many good things can happen simultaneously, life becomes simpler—much, much simpler.

So before I give you a few practical suggestions, stop for just a moment and ask yourself:

How many good things could be happening simultaneously in this very moment?

If you only have five minutes and company is coming, as has often happened to me, don’t panic. Dad’s office is only five minutes away, and more than once he has met someone, invited them to dinner or to stop in, on the spot, and then called to let me know they were on their way.

First, remember what I shared in my last letter. Try to keep your living room reasonably tidy. But even if it isn’t, don’t despair. Clear the floor. Wipe off the table. Fluff the couch cushions. Open the curtains. Slip into the bathroom and quickly wipe down the sink and toilet.

Your guests usually won’t notice perfection. They will notice peace or the absence of it. If your own heart is at peace and your home feels welcoming, that’s the impression they will leave with.

Another habit that has transformed my housekeeping is this: Never leave a room empty-handed.

I have intentionally trained myself to do this. Every time I enter a room, I glance around before I leave. If I walk into my bedroom, I straighten the pillows or smooth the throw. If laundry is waiting to be put away, I carry it with me. If I step into the bathroom and notice a toothbrush lying on the counter, I put it back. A pair of shoes, a cup, a book—these little things accumulate over time. But if you are constantly putting them away, they never become overwhelming. Instead, your house grows more orderly as the day goes on.

Simple habits truly can change your life.

Another little trick that has helped me tremendously is keeping the cleaning supplies I use most where I actually need them.

There were so many times I noticed the bathroom counter needed wiping, but because the cleaner or cloth wasn’t nearby, I simply moved on. So I started keeping Windex, a roll of paper towels, and a microfiber cloth under each bathroom sink. Now, whenever I notice the counter needs attention, I wipe it down immediately. It takes less than a minute, and the job is finished before it has time to become another item on my mental list.

Having the right tools in the right place often makes the difference between a job being done and a job waiting until tomorrow.

But above all, remember this: Your goal is peace, not perfection.

I remember a story an older sister shared at a ladies’ gathering when I was newly married. She told us about a marriage workshop she and her husband had attended early in their relationship. One of the questions asked of the husbands was something like this:

“Which would you rather come home to: clean floors, sparkling windows and dinner on the table, or your wife singing?”

She smiled as she told us that she had assumed her husband would choose the meal waiting on the table.

Instead, he chose his wife singing.

That story got my attention. Like her, I would have assumed that all the other things should come first. But over the years I discovered that it wasn’t really about singing. It was about joy.

When I intentionally prepared to welcome my husband home with a cheerful heart, I actually found that I also tended to accomplish the work more effectively throughout the day. But when I focused only on getting everything finished before he arrived, I often became hurried, anxious, and frustrated. Joy really did make the work lighter and faster! So focus first on your attitude! And, I would add, the attitudes of your children.

You may find that not only is your home more peaceful, but somehow your work becomes easier and more quickly accomplished as well.

With all my love,

Mom

“Moreover it is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful.” —1 Corinthians 4:2

Dearest Daughters,

Last week we talked about setting some clear housekeeping standards, particularly in terms of dishes, laundry, and the spaces we reserve for hospitality.

I think there’s an easy pattern that young mothers (including myself, at one time) often fall into. I’ll call it yo-yo housekeeping.

We know we can’t keep up with the house the way we’d like during a season of little children, so we allow things to pile up. We tell ourselves we’ll get to it later, and then at some point we can no longer stand it. The house feels completely out of control, and suddenly we launch into a cleaning frenzy—every closet, every drawer, every nook and cranny, and probably turmoil for the whole family.

And for a day or two everything feels wonderful. But then life happens again, the children continue being children, and before long we are right back where we started.

I’ve found this to be a fatal method of housekeeping because you spend most of your life feeling behind. The house is either in crisis or in recovery, but seldom at peace.

So what do you do?

I’m speaking particularly to the season when you have lots of little people in the house—little wreckers who seem capable of undoing twenty minutes of work in twenty seconds.

The important thing to realize is that everything doesn’t need to be perfect at all times. What matters is deciding what can and should be accomplished during this particular season of life and becoming consistent with that.

For me, one priority was always the living room. I wanted it to be a place where, if someone knocked on the door unexpectedly, I could happily invite them in without embarrassment. Being hospitable mattered to me because it’s by our love for one another that the world knows we follow Jesus, not by our housekeeping.

Did I expect the toddler’s bedroom to look like the living room all day? Not at all.

The standard I chose for that room in that season was simply this: once each day the room would be clean.

That one decision brought grace to me. Instead of feeling anxious every time I walked into a room strewn with toys, I accepted that children play. There would be messes in the toddler’s room, in the kitchen, and in the schoolroom. But every evening those rooms would once again become orderly.

Helen, you probably remember our nightly clean-up races. We’d gather every toy, tighten the beds, arrange the stuffed animals, and race to see who could finish first. The reward was story time with Mommy or Daddy. Cleaning became part of the family fun and rhythm of the day rather than a dreaded punishment.

I also didn’t expect you children to clean the room the way I would. About once a week I did a more thorough “Mommy cleaning,” and twice a year, usually in the spring and fall, we did a serious deep cleaning: moving furniture, changing seasonal clothes, reorganizing closets, and starting fresh.

The same principle applied to drawers. When I was first married, I wanted every drawer to stay perfectly folded and organized, but if I wanted my children to help put away the laundry, I had to make success attainable. So I lowered the standard without abandoning it.

Drawer dividers became wonderful little teachers. As long as the socks stayed in the sock section, the underwear in its section, and everything ended up in the correct drawer, I considered that a success.

As the children grew, the standard gradually rose. That, I think, is one of the great secrets of homemaking. Better to have a realistic standard and keep it, than no standard at all. Standards can always be raised. But when everything is random, disorder slowly becomes normal, and little by little the whole house begins to unravel. We must view our housekeeping as a journey, always getting closer to the goal.

One lesson that became vitally important to me throughout all my housekeeping years was this: never allow housekeeping and relationships to become opponents. Biblically, relationships are the priority. If we aren’t careful, we can become like Martha—so busy serving that we miss the greatest things. A clean house is important, but it should never come at the expense of the people living inside it.

The first time I truly learned this was while we were doing mission work in Brazil. You oldest three children were still very small. Helen, you were only five, and Blair and Andrew were younger still.

In those days, my method of cleaning was simple. I sent all of you outside to play while I swept, mopped, wiped, and straightened the house. Then, when you came back inside, I found myself scolding, scolding, scolding lest anyone touch what I had just cleaned.

During that season, a dear friend came with us to help while Dad and I were busy with Bible studies and teaching. She wasn’t merely a beloved babysitter; she became a treasured friend.

I began noticing the way she worked with you. She let you wipe windows, even though they often had to be wiped again afterward. She stood you on chairs to help wash dishes, even though an occasional plate still had food clinging to it. We had to wash our laundry by hand, and she would set little Andrew right into the washtub, where he splashed happily among the clothes while she washed.

Those kinds of messes would have made me cringe. But they also filled the house with laughter. Watching this young woman changed me.

Did the house get cleaner because you were “helping”? No. It probably wasn’t as spotless as when I did everything myself. But love was growing; memories were being made. You were learning skills that would stick with you for the rest of your lives. I realized that inviting children into the work of the home is often more important than accomplishing the work perfectly.

This is also why it is so important that we resist judging our friends and sisters by the appearance of their homes. We rarely know what season they are living in. We don’t know what burdens they are carrying, what lessons they are teaching, or what memories they are choosing to make. What may look like disorder to us may actually be a home filled with instruction, laughter, and love.

So when we step into another woman’s home, let us come as servants, not as judges. Let us be quick to encourage, quick to lend a hand, and slow to compare. Grace can strengthen weary hands far more than criticism ever will.

Don’t be discouraged because your home doesn’t yet look like the home of a woman whose youngest child is eighteen. Build the habits that fit today’s season. Be faithful there, and one day you’ll discover that the standards you practiced for years have grown and matured along with your family.

Faithfulness is built one ordinary day and one good habit at a time.

With all my love,

Mom

“Let all things be done decently and in order.”
(1 Cor. 14:40)

Dearest Daughters,

Well, here we go, beginning a new year of Dearest Daughters letters. I thought I would start by talking about some of the tricks, tips, and helps I’ve learned in housekeeping over the years.

In my very first letter to you a year ago, I talked about how motherhood is like a dance. I really meant that. To me, it’s still the image that most captures what it means to be a wife, mother, homemaker, and all the other things God may call us to be. There are many steps in the dance, and no two are exactly alike. The rhythm may change, the song may change, and we must bow, bend, step to the side, step back, and step forward in time with the music.

Homemaking is much the same. There are seasons when it comes more easily and seasons when it doesn’t. As your families grow and your responsibilities expand, you will discover that keeping a home orderly is not simply a matter of wanting to do it. It requires patterns, habits, and systems that help carry the load when life becomes full.

I’m blessed to see all of you keeping your homes well, at least from the times I’ve spent with you. Some of you are better at it than I am, but there have certainly been seasons when I’ve done better and seasons when I’ve done worse. I love a clean home, an orderly home, and a beautiful home, and I really dislike clutter. When I got married, I confidently told myself that my house would never be messy or dirty. It was a lesson in humility to discover that good intentions alone do not keep a house!

I’ll tell you the story of when I first realized that simply deciding to do something was not enough.

Helen, you were only a week old.

I had nothing to wear that fit properly after your birth, and I was realizing that losing the baby weight did not necessarily mean fitting back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, at least not right away. Prior to your birth, I had kept an immaculate house. After you arrived, it seemed as though all I ever did was feed you, change you, prepare meals, clean them up, make laundry piles ten times larger than Dad and I had ever produced, and then try to find time to wash, fold, and put everything away again.

One day, right before lunch, I was trying to find something to wear because we had an event to attend. After trying on about the ninth outfit and tossing it onto the couch in frustration, I heard a knock at the door.

I nearly had a heart attack.

My hair was a mess. Nine outfits were draped across the couch. A load of unfolded laundry sat in a chair. Breakfast dishes were still in the sink.

Then the knock came again.

What do you do?

I gathered up the pile of clothes from the couch, wadded them into my arms, tossed them onto my bed, and hurried back to answer the door. It was my parents and some relatives of my dad’s. I couldn’t believe it!

“Sorry to drop in unannounced,” Dad said, “but we were driving by, and I thought they would enjoy seeing your wedding furniture.”

Several family members had made beautiful furniture for us as wedding gifts. Your Uncle Abraham and some of Dad’s friends had made our coffee table, rocking chair, bed, dresser, and nightstands. Your Uncle Philip had made our dining table and chairs.

Then Dad added the fatal words:

“I knew you always kept an immaculate house, so I figured it wouldn’t alarm you too much.”

I laughed weakly.

“A baby has changed that,” I said.

Everyone was gracious, but when they stepped inside, I could see the surprise on my parents’ faces. Not only did they tour the living room, but one of the ladies wanted to see the bedroom furniture as well. After they finally left, I flopped onto the couch and covered my face with my hand. Oh, no!

I was going to have to establish some patterns and rules for myself because this couldn’t happen again. I’m still cringing about it twenty-eight years later.

That day, I made a few decisions. First, I would not do laundry in the living room. The living room would remain a sanctuary. No piles of laundry. No household clutter.

Later this developed even further. I don’t generally allow children to play in the living room unless they are playing there with their parents. Toys belong in designated play spaces. The purpose of this rule isn’t rigidity but hospitality. I want to be able to welcome company into my living room without first needing thirty minutes to make it presentable.

Second, I made a rule that I would never go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink.

Third, I’d never leave the house with dirty dishes in the sink unless there was a genuine emergency.

Those simple habits helped me enormously.

The lesson was not really about laundry or dishes but that good intentions are rarely enough. Homes are generally not kept by inspiration but by patterns.

Scripture tells us that everything should be done decently and in order. It has always struck me that when the disciples entered the empty tomb, they found the grave clothes lying there and the face cloth folded separately. There was order even in the midst of the greatest miracle in history. I figured that if there could be order in an empty tomb on resurrection morning, there ought to be some order in my laundry basket as well.

During different seasons, I’ve handled laundry in different ways. As you children grew older, I taught you to fold and put away your own clothes. But during that season with a newborn, I folded everything immediately as it came off the clothesline or out of the dryer and placed it directly into a basket ready to carry to the drawers. It was one less pile to create and one less pile to conquer later.

Over the years I’ve learned dozens of little habits, tricks, and systems that have helped me care for a home and family. Some were learned from wise women; others came through trial and error. And some came through embarrassing moments such as the one I just told you about.

Over the next few months, I’d like to share more of these with you. Take what is useful, discard what is not, and adapt the rest to your own homes and personalities.

The goal is not perfection but to create a place of peace, welcome, beauty, and provision for the people God has entrusted to your care.

With all my love,

Mom

“One generation shall praise thy works to another, and shall declare thy mighty acts.”
(Ps 145:4)

Dearest daughters,

Well, this is the 52nd letter—an entire year of Dearest Daughters letters!

I hope these letters have been as much of a blessing to you as they have been to me. Taking my thoughts, putting them into words, and sharing them with you each week has been a transforming experience. As I write, I picture each of you and the different seasons you are walking through, and I hope that somewhere along the way these letters have been inspiring, encouraging, or helpful in your own journeys as wives and mothers.

I wanted to give you a little glimpse of what I am planning going forward.

I have begun the process of turning these first 52 letters into a devotional, which I hope you will enjoy. My vision is for it to be both a devotional and a prayer journal, a place for reflection as well as encouragement. Lord willing, it will be ready this fall, and I’m very excited about it.

As I look ahead to the next year of letters, I find myself wanting to move into some very practical areas of wifehood, motherhood, and homemaking.

My initial thought is to spend six weeks on practical homemaking, six weeks on newborn and baby care, six weeks on toddlers and preschoolers, six weeks on beginning school, six weeks on family schooling, six weeks on the teenage years, and six weeks on navigating relationships with married children.

That still leaves room for additional topics, and before I begin, I would love to hear from you.

What specific subjects would you like me to address within those categories? Are there other categories you would like included? What questions do you find yourself asking as wives, mothers, homemakers, and women seeking the kingdom of God in your homes?

Your feedback would be wonderful and would help shape the direction of the coming year’s letters.

I would also love to hear from other mothers who may eventually read these letters. If you feel comfortable, perhaps you could leave a comment on my Substack page beneath this letter and help get the conversation started. Of course, if you’d rather respond privately, that’s perfectly fine, too.

Before we close out this first year together, I want to leave you with a poem I wrote for you:

If You Are A Mother…

If you’ve awakened in the night
to the grunts of your baby,
fed them and turned them,
yet lingered a moment longer
because you couldn’t bear to lay them back down,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve stayed awake in wonder,
just to marvel,
just to weep over the wisps of breath
upon a silky cheek,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve picked up the messes,
wiped away the grime,
and still found yourself smiling
at some point each and every day,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve been vomited on and cried on,
plastered with slobbery kisses,
and simply wiped it off again with a laugh,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve embraced every moment—
the sunshine and play,
but also the chaos
that shatters your day—
then you are a mother.

If you’ve disciplined your child,
then hidden away to weep,
yet still kept doing
what would keep him safe,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve lain awake at night
repenting again and again,
yet risen in the morning
to do it all over once more,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve tried and you’ve tried
and you’ve failed,
yet left a trail—
even a broken one—
for those who come behind,
then you are a mother.

If you’ve loved beyond your strength,
prayed beyond your wisdom,
given more than you thought you had,
and risen each morning
to surrender once more,
then you are a mother.

Not because you did it perfectly.

Not because you never failed.

But because you loved.

You are a mother.

As I watch your lives unfold, I see that those of you who have children are becoming mothers, not simply by giving birth, but through the daily laying down of your lives in love.

And that brings joy to my soul more than I can adequately express.

With all my love,

Mom

Dearest Daughters,

Scripture tells us, “This is the victory that overcomes the world—even our faith.” (1 John 5:4)

If faith is the victory that overcomes the world, then it seems that if we’re looking for victory in life, we ought to practice faith and come to a deeper understanding of what it truly means.

I believe that if faith is the victory that overcomes the world, then certainly it can also be the victory that overcomes fear, anxiety, discouragement, and the daily troubles of life.

Whenever I’m not feeling victory in some sphere of life, I often ask myself: Is this simply the challenges of life or is there a lack of faith?

If the house feels chaotic and lacking peace, perhaps I don’t have enough faith.

If there’s tension in my marriage, perhaps faith is running short.

If I seem unable to gain forward momentum with a toddler, where is the faith?

If I can’t seem to connect with a teenager, perhaps faith is the shortfall. When I encounter these difficulties, one of the first places I should look is whether I am responding in faith.

So let’s examine faith. I think the definition of faith in Christian circles is often diluted until it becomes little more than mental agreement that God is God. But biblical faith is quite different. Biblical faith always produces action. Hebrews 11 describes faith in vivid terms. Noah, having faith, built an ark. Abraham, having faith, left his country. Moses, having faith, chose to suffer with the people of God. Again and again, faith moved someone to act.

And when we look at the passage where the disciples ask the Lord, “Increase our faith,” in Luke 17, we find something very interesting.

Jesus has just told them that they must forgive—not merely once or twice, but over and over again. In response they cry out, “Lord, increase our faith!”

Jesus first tells them that if they have faith as a grain of mustard seed, they can say to a tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it will obey them.

But then He immediately tells what seems at first to be an unrelated parable. He speaks of a servant who has spent the day laboring in the field. When he returns home, the master does not tell him to sit down and rest. Instead, the servant prepares the master’s meal and continues serving. And after doing so, he simply says, “We are unprofitable servants. We have done only what was our duty to do.”

Somehow, this story is part of Jesus’ answer to their request for greater faith.

I have often thought about that. When I lie in bed at night after a long and taxing day, my mind wanders back through the hours. If I’ve simply done what I know was required of me before God as a wife, mother, homemaker, or friend, there’s a certain satisfaction in that.

But there is a different feeling altogether when I have responded to the prompting of the Holy Spirit.

When I have reached out to encourage someone.

When I have written a note.

When I have given a gift.

When I have made a meal or a phone call.

When I have gone beyond what was merely required of me.

Those are the days when I feel as though I have stepped into a rushing current. New ideas come. New energy comes, and above all, joy comes. And what is remarkable is that whenever I step beyond myself in faith, God often sends something back in return.

It’s like casting out a tiny seed and watching it spring up into a tree. The encouragement returned. There are unexpected blessings, and I find renewed sense of purpose. There is deep joy that comes from knowing God moved through me in some small way.

Faith seems to grow from faith and glory grows from glory. When you give faith away, it somehow reflects back to you. When you extend courage, hope, kindness, and love to others, the radiance of God shines both through you and then back upon you. Faith becomes contagious.

So if you find yourself falling short, if victory seems absent in some area of your life, ask the Lord as the disciples did:

“Lord, increase my faith.”

And then look for an opportunity to go beyond the call of duty. Do something that requires you to step outside of yourself. Encourage someone. Forgive someone. Serve someone. Bless someone. Take one small step of faith, and then watch what God does.

I challenge you to see whether you do not find more victory, more faith, and more momentum than you had yesterday. Let us walk in the victory that overcomes the world. The victory that overcomes fear. The victory that overcomes doubt. The victory that overcomes the cranky toddler. The victory that overcomes the despondent teenager. The victory that overcomes selfishness and brings the radiant glory of God into the world.

With all my love,

Mom

“Let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” (Gal. 6:9)

Dearest daughters,

Today, Dad and I are celebrating twenty-nine years of marriage.

I remember this day vividly, twenty-nine years ago, the awe, the fear, even the trembling I felt in my soul as I prepared to make such a momentous, lifelong decision. Was my perspective truly right? Was my love what it needed to be? Above all, I did not want to let Dad or God down.

I knew Dad saw more in me than I even believed myself to be. And I knew God was counting on me to be a reflection of His love.

My mom was busy preparing my little sister for the wedding in my bedroom, so I spent that morning in my brother’s bedroom, praying, pacing the floor, getting down on my knees.

“God, help me to do this,” I prayed. “Help me to bring glory to You in this marriage. Don’t let my shortfalls change the trajectory You have for my life.”

There was such a weighty feeling that morning. But the moment I made that commitment with my mouth—“I do take this man to be my husband, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health”—it was as if those words cut through the cloud of heaviness, and I saw the light of love like never before.

Now, twenty-nine years later, I realize I was only barely seeing a glimmer of the shine our love would become. It has only grown brighter.

Not one single day has gone by that I have not repeatedly declared my love to your father, and he to me. And it is my wish and prayer that each of you will have a marriage like Dad and I have had.

Our marriage has far exceeded my expectations, and I owe this in part to my own father, who told me from the beginning, “Marriage will not be about you. If you go into it to see what you can get out of it, you will be disappointed. Marriage will be about God being made more visible through your union, through your overcoming, through the way you work through your trials. And it will take a lot of work.”

So I came into marriage expecting a challenge. And because of that, I found the challenges to be part of the adventure.

Let me give you an analogy.

If I go down to the car to leave, running late for church, and realize I have left my keys upstairs in the bedroom of our large farmhouse, I resent every step back through that house. I resent that my bedroom is upstairs. I resent every step back down. It all takes longer. It’s all an inconvenience to me getting on my way. The stairs and the house itself become adversaries to my purpose.

But if I am preparing to take a beautiful alpine mountain hike with your father in a month, I count every step. I am thrilled that my bedroom is upstairs and that our house sits at the top of a hill. I take every step as preparation, as a challenge making me more fit for my goal.

This is the attitude that will shape your marriage.

If our attitude is that everything is a hindrance to our own purposes, then every request, every difference of viewpoint, every need in our spouse or children will begin to feel like they’re in the way of our life and our agenda. And little by little, we will begin to resent our marriage.

But if we believe marriage is a chance to prove to the enemy that love triumphs, then every difference of opinion, every inconvenience, every sorrow becomes a chance, an exercise. It becomes a stairway to climb in preparation for standing on the mountain that declares love will triumph over hate, life over death, and that we are part of the winning team.

So may you view each day of your marriage as steps preparing you for the mountain view, not as inconveniences keeping you from the journey of your own independent life.

May you be blessed with a marriage like mine.

May you hear love from your spouse every day, and may you give it every hour, so that on your twenty-ninth anniversary, you can say with me:

I would do it all over again!

And though I was head over heels in love on day one, I barely knew what love was compared to what I feel today.

With all my love,
Mom

But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory. (2 Cor. 3:18)

Dearest Daughters,

I recently had a conversation with an Alaskan man that got my attention. He was talking about the constant problem people in Alaska, and in many northern countries, face with vitamin D deficiency.

Vitamin D is the vitamin our bodies get through exposure to sunlight. It’s absorbed through watching a sunset or sunrise, and through simply living in the sun. This vitamin helps the body absorb calcium, strengthening bones, muscles, and teeth, and even contributing to emotional well-being. But after months of winter and near darkness, where the sun barely peeks above the horizon for an hour or two each day, many people emerge from winter feeling depressed, weak, fatigued, and physically depleted. Some even develop bone disorders and increased fragility.

What struck me was that even many people who are health conscious and faithfully take vitamin D supplements still discover, through bloodwork, that they are deficient.

And interestingly, vitamin D deficiency is becoming increasingly common even in places filled with sunshine, simply because so many people spend enormous amounts of time indoors, disconnected from natural light.

But it especially affects the far north after long winters. This got me thinking about spiritual life. Because we need light both naturally and spiritually.

Naturally, light strengthens us. It lifts mood, strengthens muscles and bones, and keeps us from becoming brittle and injury-prone. Without enough light, people weaken.

Spiritually, I believe the same thing can happen.

Jesus so often used physical realities to describe spiritual truths: light, bread, water, the body, ligaments, joints, sight, blindness, fruit, seed.

So what is “light” according to Scripture? One of the primary ways we receive light is through the Word of God. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” (Ps. 119:105)

The Word of God brings light into dark places. And I don’t believe this refers only to reading Scripture privately, though that is essential. I also believe it includes the living Word preached through those whom God sends to us.

As Romans says:

“The word is near you, in your mouth and in your heart” (that is, the word of faith which we preach). (Rom. 10:8)

Faith is ignited when the Word comes alive through those God sends us, then enters our hearts, and begins to live in our mouths also.

This is why it matters so much where we situate ourselves spiritually. We need to be in places where the Word of God is living, active, spoken, embodied, and believed.

Another way light comes to us is through the unveiled faces of our brothers and sisters.

But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory. (2 Cor. 3:18)

When believers walk honestly and transparently before God and one another, they begin reflecting His light back upon each other. We become, in a sense, beams of reflected glory, mirrors catching the light of Christ and shining it into one another’s lives. This is why fellowship and community are so vital.

We need to be in the presence of people whose lives shine the presence of God on us and to us. And we ourselves are called to become that kind of light for others.

When we walk in the presence of His people, we are also walking in the atmosphere of His presence.

And then there is the matter of our own transparency before God. Light cannot penetrate tinted windows. If we layer our lives with distraction, manipulation, hiddenness, dishonesty, bitterness, pride, or self-protection, we slowly become opaque and stop seeing clearly. We stop receiving light clearly.

True honesty is more than merely abstaining from a direct lie. It is a vulnerable openness before God and His people. It is living with untinted windows.

I remember seasons in my own life when I didn’t even realize how little light I was receiving until I stepped back into the light again. Everything had become dim and distorted. Relationships became confusing. Problems became exaggerated and frightening. A shadowy stump in the yard begins to look like a bear on a dark Alaskan winter evening, and spiritually, that same thing can happen.

Without enough light, we begin seeing our brothers, our circumstances, and even ourselves through distortion, judgment, and fear. But a moment in the presence of God and His people can cast out the dark distortions, and everything becomes clear again.

And what are the “muscles” and “bones” of spiritual life that can become weakened without light?

They are the inner strength and flexibility that allow us to move with grace, humility, courage, forgiveness, wisdom, and endurance in every capacity God has called us to walk in. When those spiritual bones become weak and brittle, fractures begin appearing in relationships, churches, families, and hearts.

Ephesians says that the whole body is joined and strengthened by “that which every joint supplies” (Eph. 4:16).

When ligaments tear apart, when relationships lose grace, when fellowship breaks down, perhaps one of the first questions we should ask ourselves is this: Am I getting enough light?

Am I receiving the Word of God, in Scripture and through the living voice of faith-filled believers whom God sends to me?

Am I walking in fellowship where His face shines upon me through my brothers and sisters?

And am I keeping my own heart transparent before Him, without tinted windows?

Because God desires vibrant, joyful, healthy Christians—people strong in spirit, supple in love, and radiant with His presence.

So step into the light in every way you can. The winter doesn’t have to last forever. Even in the far north, the sun eventually rises again. And in Christ, that summer Sun can shine even at midnight.

With all my love,

Mom

Dearest Daughters,

Lots of people talk about agricultural sustainability, but very few are talking about sustainable relationships, sustainable marriages, and sustainable generations. And that is the most important sustainability of all.

I was recently in a meeting where I heard a man say that he personally knew twenty-four people whose adult children had “canceled” them. Until the last few years, I’d never even heard that term used this way, and I find it deeply grievous. It is the sign of a failing culture. If there’s no sustainability in relationships, if there’s no continuity between generations, then we have lost life itself.

So what does it take to create that kind of durability?

First, I believe it’s a question of identity.

Second, it’s a recognition of our place in eternity and in history.

We were never meant to be the whole picture. We were meant to be connected. We’re connected to the roots, the trunk, and to the preceding branches. If we sever this connection, how can there be fruit? Only God is all in all, and each generation is one step closer to the harvest He desires.

Let me begin with identity.

I’ve often heard people ask, “Was it hard for you to give up your career, your dreams, or your previous life to become a mother?”

For me, no. Once I understood motherhood to be my calling, I couldn’t imagine anything more important in the world. Motherhood was not a detour from the future. It was the future.

This was how the kingdom of God would continue coming again and again upon the earth, generation after generation.

To stand in the place of motherhood was, to me, to take hold of a story stretching from the faith of Abraham, through whom all the families of the earth would be blessed, to the returning of the Lord and the question of whether He would still find faith upon the earth.

We know the kingdoms of self-centeredness, broken families, dissolved relationships, and fragmentation are flourishing. I wanted to see the kingdom of heaven flourish also—the kingdom of love, faithfulness, sacrifice, and thriving life. Motherhood was my opportunity to participate in that work.

So if motherhood is your calling, don’t view it as an isolated or temporary identity. View it as part of the future itself. The future of whether there will still be a people of faith upon the earth when your grandchildren are born . . . and when your great-grandchildren are born.

We must think long-term.

We’ve been trained by a culture of “click here,” “swipe there” to think in short-term, immediate, narrow fragments. But you must learn to think generationally.

Look back into the past:

Why did my ancestors come to this country?

What were they longing for?

What sacrifices did they make?

Then look forward:

What will I leave behind for my grandchildren’s children?

What kind of inheritance—spiritual, relational, and cultural—will remain after I’m gone?

If you think this way, your parenting will be grounded in vision rather than reaction, and your family will have roots deep enough to endure storms.

And this brings me to generations. No generation in and of itself, and certainly no individual—is meant to be all in all. That’s who Christ is. He alone fills all in all. He was before time began, and He will remain after time ends.

I think of history like a tree planted from a seed. The roots go deep into the earth, carrying out their hidden work. Without them, the tree would die. Yet we don’t look at the roots expecting fruit. Neither do we find fruit in the trunk, or even in the earliest branches.

So it’s futile to look back at your parents or grandparents and complain that they didn’t bear the fruit that perhaps your generation was meant to bear. When we compare one generation to another in this way, we misunderstand what God is doing across history.

Every time we sever ourselves from the generation before us, we cut ourselves off from the roots. And when branches lose connection to the roots, the leaves begin to wither.

I believe much of this rejection of previous generations comes from a loss of vision and identity. People no longer understand that humanity itself was meant to be on a journey back toward God, back toward the wholeness we lost in the Garden when mankind chose autonomy over surrender.

Every act of severing becomes, in some way, a participation in fragmentation, death, and entropy, another bite from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, deciding for ourselves rather than surrendering to the Tree of Life.

And yet it is those ancient roots, however tangled, scarred, or gnarled they may appear, that still nourish us. It is that old trunk, no matter how imperfect, gnarled or weathered, that still supports us.

May God help us to give thanks for the generations that came before us. No matter their failures, we would not exist without them.

That honor for one’s roots is something I always admired about my father.

His own father was a deeply broken man who tragically eventually ended his own life, and yet my father still spoke of him with kindness and honor. I never heard him speak with bitterness, though he certainly did not condone the things he had done.

My father believed that his father had given him life. He had ridden the rails and eventually settled in Texas, where my father would one day encounter God. And to my father, that was enough reason to give thanks and honor his memory.

Do not sever yourself from the roots, my daughters, or you may one day find your own branches barren.

“When the Son of man comes, shall He find faith on the earth?” (Luke 18:8)

With all my love,

Mom

“My little children, of whom I travail in birth again until Christ be formed in you…”
— Galatians 4:19

Dearest Daughters,

As Mother’s Day approached, I could not help but think of all the blessings of being a mother.

Being a mother expanded my heart. The moment I laid eyes on you, Helen, for the first time, I understood a dimension of love I had not even known I needed to understand. It was like discovering clouds existed after having seen nothing but blue sky.

Motherhood taught me how to sacrifice—not only to sacrifice, but how to sacrifice with love and even joy. Getting up at night was never a drudgery to me. I loved looking at your little faces. As I fed you in the quiet darkness, I didn’t want to cut it short. I cherished every moment.

Then, as you became toddlers and grew from there, motherhood taught me patience. I didn’t know I was impatient until I had children. And when I became frustrated, it was not truly with you, but with myself—because I wanted so deeply to impart to you the things that would make you happy, whole, obedient, and free.

Motherhood taught me to be a teacher. I had always thought of myself as a student, but I came to realize that learning and teaching walk hand in hand. As I longed to reveal to you all the beautiful things I was discovering about life, I became a teacher.

It taught me to be a nurturer. As I made your favorite foods, puzzled over health problems, worried over infant weight gain, and learned what strengthened and nourished you, I became invested in good food, good habits, and healing.

It taught me to be a healthcare provider as I faced each sickness and injury, as I sought to understand and get to the bottom of them.

It taught me how to hear from God, because I so desperately needed wisdom and words to help you overcome. It gave me spiritual gifts—words of knowledge when I needed to know truth from a lie. It even made me a kind of prophetess in my own home when I needed to proclaim the word of God and the word of faith to you.

But most of all, motherhood humbled me. It made me more dependent on God, because I discovered I couldn’t do it without Him. Ultimately, only He could bring you to Himself. I could only point the way, and hope to live a life that inspired you to want to do so also.

Nothing has given me more joy than seeing you, my daughters, become mothers yourselves—watching you enter that holy process of surrender, transformation, and love.

The apostle Paul wrote to Timothy that a woman will be saved through childbirth (1 Tim. 2:15). We often understand this to mean that she will not die due to childbirth, and perhaps it does mean that. But the words that follow, continuing in faith, love, and holiness, suggest something even more ongoing: that we ourselves are saved, shaped, and sanctified as we surrender ourselves to bringing children into the world, and then labor again to birth them into the kingdom of God.

No work has worked a deeper work in my heart than motherhood.

May God bless you as mothers. May you surrender yourselves to receive all the gifts that come through motherhood. May you be transformed into the image of our Lord, and may this calling fill every dream in your heart.

All my dreams, and I believe yours can be can be encompassed in the word:

Mother.

I love you.

Love,
Mom

“We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brothers.” (1 John 3:14)

Dearest daughters,

Love truly overcomes all, but how do we know if we’re walking in that love—if we’re truly serving our Lord and our neighbor as we ought?

We know, according to Scripture, that we have passed out of death and into life because we love the brothers. So the question arises: what is this death we’re to come out of?

Of course, it includes death in the ultimate sense of physical dying. But it’s also something more immediate; it’s the entropy we experience each day in the weight of troubled thoughts, in our own despondent attitudes, in the inward struggles, and even in our physical battles and failures. It is that inward decay that spirals us back upon ourselves.

But there is a clear path out of this death and into life, into living fully. That way is love.

Let me explain what I mean in the ordinary, daily sense. There’s a simple measure I’ve learned to use in my own life to know if I’m walking in this love for my brothers and sisters that will bring me from dying to living. God alone is the true judge of all things, but this measure has often served as a faithful guide to my heart.

When I find myself weighed down and consumed with my own problems—my emotions, my temptations, my failures—I take it as a sign that I’ve turned inward, and that I’m no longer loving as fully as I have been called to love.

I know there are certainly seasons in life that are difficult, and burdens that must be borne with patience and prayer. But I’ve also known another kind of burden that we are not called to live under.

I first noticed this when I was a teenager. Just before our Thanksgiving Fair each year, life would become very full. There were crafts to finish, schoolwork to complete, nightly music practices, and long afternoons spent preparing the fairgrounds or bringing in the last of the harvest. My days were poured out from morning until night.

And I began to notice that temptations that had often troubled me—distraction, wasted time, idle talk—all seemed to dissipate in that season. I realized that it wasn’t that I’d conquered them by consciously striving against them—it was simply that no room was left for them, because my life was full of giving.

And later, when we became involved in ministry, and I began to feel compassion for the struggles of others, I saw this even more clearly. As I gave myself to the needs around me, my own needs seemed to shrivel up—sometimes even my physical ones.

Then I discovered something even more interesting when I first began working in women’s health. I was part of a home group with many young, single women. One after another came to me, concerned about physical problems—especially related to their “unusually difficult cycles.” By the time the ninth young woman had come, I realized something: These were not rare or unusual problems! This was a Lake Woebegone malady, where all the women were above average.

And this caused me to wonder whether sometimes, when we’re left alone too much with ourselves, if our difficulties—both physical and spiritual—do not become magnified. I don’t mean to dismiss real struggles. We must never presume or diminish another’s pain. But it does give us pause. Is it possible that both real and imagined problems germinate and thrive in loneliness and inward focus?

But I’ve seen another way. When we’re wholly given to the work of the Lord—to loving our children, to serving our husbands, to caring for our neighbors—those problems that once loomed so large begin to shrink. Some even disappear altogether.

And so, again, this has become, for me, a kind of measure. If I find myself returning again and again—month after month, year after year—to the same struggles, the same discouragements, the same inward battles, I don’t begin trying to fix the problem by focusing on it. Instead, I begin by turning outward. I remember the instruction of Scripture: “Let no one seek his own good, but the good of his neighbor.” — 1 Corinthians 10:24

And I ask: Whom can I love today?

When you feel the pull toward distraction, toward self-pity, toward discouragement, answer it with love. Make a meal for someone. Serve in your home. Clean that closet that’s been waiting, do the job that would bless your husband or lighten another’s load. Look for the need, and meet it. You may find, as I have, that these small acts carry power far greater than you imagined.

For in the end, it’s not by wrestling endlessly with ourselves that we overcome the world—it’s by faith working through love. Give yourselves to love!

With all my love,
Mom

Dearest Daughters,

A number of years ago, I had a pivotal moment that gave me a key in learning how to relate to people in a way that is more effective and helpful.

We were trying to help a young woman who was walking through a very difficult family crisis that involved unbelievers connected to her life before she came to the Lord. She was fearful for her children and their safety, and, as is fitting for a mother, her heart was fixed almost entirely on them. Every attempt she made to move the situation toward resolution was undermined by her own fear, expressed through defensive words and actions.

After multiple counseling sessions with her and others who were helping, I found myself unsure of what to do. I felt a deep compassion for her, yet everything seemed to circle back into the same self-defeating pattern.

One night, before bed, I began to pray. I asked God to please speak something to me that might help bring light into the situation.

That night, I had a dream.

In the dream, your dad and I were speaking with others who were also trying to help this young woman, and suddenly I said, “The Lord has told me that empathy is the key and the message.” I woke with those words still resounding in my mind, and with a strong sense of the Spirit of God surrounding me.

As I lay there and prayed, I felt the Lord impress again on my heart: “This is exactly what I did.” And immediately, my thoughts turned to Jesus—

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us . . .” — (John 1:14)

Empathy is, in essence, what Jesus did. He clothed Himself in our humanity, our thoughts, our frailty, our suffering, even our capacity to die. He did not love us from a distance, but from within the very limitations we carry. I felt the Lord showing me that I must, in some small way, do the same.

I needed to step inside this woman’s world—to feel as though her children were my own. How would I think? How would I respond? What fears would grip my heart?

Over the next day or two, I practiced this. I knew I could never fully carry the weight she bore, but even the attempt began to reshape my thoughts and soften my responses. It governed the way I saw her, and, more importantly, how I would speak to her.

When we met again, I shared this same truth with her: that if she truly wanted to move toward resolution, she would need to step into the hearts of those who were hurting her and to understand their fears, their wounds, their perspectives.

This is the way of Christ.

“Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” (Phil. 2:4)

So often, we are wounded by others, sometimes even those we love, and who love us. And when we are hurt, we naturally retreat into our own perspective. We see only our angle, our pain, our justification. But if we remain there, we lose, and everyone loses.

Christ offers us another way. His love becomes a bridge that allows us to cross over into another’s experience. In a very real sense, He takes on flesh again through us when we allow His love to move within our hearts. We begin to clothe ourselves in another’s fears, another’s hurts, and from that place, we can speak truth with gentleness, and love with power.

This is the key to understanding. It is the key to your marriage. You are female; he is male. There are differences that will, at times, feel like barriers But in those moments, ask God to help you step inside your husband’s thoughts—his pressures, his concerns, his silent burdens.

With your teenagers—ask Him again.
With your neighbors—ask Him again.
With those who wound you—ask Him especially.

This is what will make you an effective vessel of love. This is what makes the love of Christ visible again on the earth—His body still living, still moving, still reaching through His people.

May God help us all to become expressions of His love, even in the midst of our human weakness.

With all my love,
Mom

My dearest daughters,

I’ve often pondered why faith, hope and love remain when all else fades. But this much I know—if these are eternal, then every time we practice them, we are investing in eternity itself. As for me, I want to invest in what will not pass away.

So how do we make those investments here on earth? We’re commanded by God to love—to love our neighbor as ourselves, and even to love our enemies. But what does that truly mean?

Mere Christianity, by C.S. Lewis, offers helpful clarity. Loving our neighbor does not mean that we like everything about them. We may strongly dislike their actions, their attitudes, even their patterns of behavior, and yet we are still called to love them.

So how do we love our neighbor as ourselves?

Think of your own life. Do you always like yourself? Are there not nights when you lie awake and grieve over your own words or attitudes? Perhaps you’ve thought, I hate how I spoke today. I regret how I treated my child, or my husband. And yet, most don’t entirely lose hope for transformation. You don’t say, I’m beyond change.

Instead, you turn to God and say, You are faithful. You can change me. You can make me into who I long to be. I believe in You, so I will change!

This is also how we love our neighbor as ourselves. We hold that same faith for them and reach for the same hope that we have for our own souls. We look beyond what they are today and fix our eyes on who God created them to be, and who He is still able to make them into.

I remember a time when, as a young woman, I struggled deeply to love another woman. It was early in my marriage, and all I could see was how she was doing things wrong. I didn’t think she treated other sisters well. She seemed nitpicky. I didn’t like the way she interacted with her children, and it began to consume my thoughts.

To be fair, some of what I observed may have been true. But truth, when filtered through a wrong spirit, becomes a blinding monster far from love.

One day, I brought all of my grievances to your dad, carefully cataloging what I had seen and felt. He listened quietly for a time and then said something piercing: “I don’t know if that’s accurate or not. But I do not feel the Holy Spirit or a spirit of love in your attitude toward her. I think the first step is to repent.”

Feeling the deep conviction of God, I went into our bedroom, found the little striped chair, and knelt beside it to pray. But I didn’t even know how to begin. The thoughts I had entertained had so shaped my vision that I could hardly see her any other way.

Finally, I prayed, God, deliver me from my perspective. Help me to see her through Your eyes. And in a moment, my view shifted so that I saw her fears, her insecurities, her love, small and fragile, but real. I beheld her tentative efforts to give what she herself was still learning to receive. I was grieved with myself more deeply than I had been in a long time.

That very evening at a church service, the Word of God came with power. And though neither I nor my husband had said a word to anyone about my concerns, that woman went to the altar and knelt to ask for prayer.

As I watched her, I sensed the Lord speaking to my own heart. Could it be that my judgment, even though unspoken, had been a hindrance to this step? Could it be that my step of repentance for holding her in condemnation had released something in the Spirit that had long held her back? It was a sobering thought.

Our attitudes toward others matter more than we often understand. They do not remain contained within us, but either hinder or help the work of God in another’s life.

If we would walk in hope, believing for others, our faith would spread like water over a dry, unsprouted field of corn, until the small, hardened seeds begin to break open and reach toward the light of the sun.

But what do you do when you have a neighbor—perhaps a sister-in-law, a mother-in-law, or another woman in your life—whose behavior you find yourself recoiling from? How do you continue to love them?

We must first understand something: Having affection for someone is not the same as truly loving them. Affection can be fickle. As Mere Christianity illustrates, a mother may feel great affection for her child, and yet that very affection may lead her to indulge him in ways that are not for his ultimate good. In this case, affection is actually overriding true love. Affection and liking someone can certainly facilitate love—but they are not its foundation.

True love is a choice of the will and of the heart. We choose to love. And when we practice the commandment to love, something remarkable happens: affection can begin to grow. But it follows, it doesn’t lead. This is actually a relief, because it means that if you don’t feel affection for someone—if you don’t enjoy their personality, their habits, or their behavior—you aren’t disqualified from loving them. You can still love them fully. And over time, affection itself may grow.

So how do we do this? We practice love—especially toward those we have trouble liking and for whom we feel little to no natural affection. When you’re struggling to love someone you know you’re commanded to love, you must begin with action. You look for opportunities to be kind. You look for a compliment to share. You train your eyes to see what is worthy of honor. Ask yourself: What would I do for this person if I truly loved and liked them? Then do that thing at once. And you’ll find that your love and affection immediately begin to grow.

This concept becomes especially important in close relationships, such as with your children—particularly in their teenage years, when much of what they do may not feel especially likable. In those moments, you must set them up to succeed. Find one thing they do well. Create a place for it, and then call it out and praise it.

The very act of offering a compliment, of giving a service, of making a meal for someone you’re struggling to love—these things expand love and even affection, because love is a living, growing thing. When you feed it and water it, it grows.

If you practice the works of love, even when your heart lags behind, your love will increase, and often, affection will follow.

But the opposite is also true. If you practice criticism, if you rehearse faults, if you speak about someone’s weaknesses and dwell on what you dislike, your dislike will grow. Your love will diminish. You will have fed into the destructive work of the accuser.

You’re always cultivating something. So I plead with you—invest in love.

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” (Philippians 4:8)

Think on these things. Speak of these things. Dwell on these things. In doing so, you’re making an investment, not only in the love you will experience here on earth, but in heaven itself.

You’re preparing a home, and home is where love thrives, where peace expands, where hope continues, and where faith is ever-present. So build your home in eternity—by building your faith, your hope, and your love, not only for yourself, but for your neighbor. Believe for them. Hope for them. Love them for eternity.

Love is not static but living.

And it grows where it’s cultivated. So cultivate love, that in the light of the face of the Son, it will sprout and bloom.

With all my love,

Mom

We will not hide them from their children,

but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord,

and His might, and the wonders that He has done…

that the next generation might know them,

the children yet unborn,

and arise and tell them to their children. (Ps. 78:4-6)

Dearest Daughters,

Every child is given two gifts: roots to hold them, and wings to carry them. But the wings only grow strong when the roots run deep.

I cannot impress upon you strongly enough how important intergenerational connectedness is, the connection of parents to children, children to parents, and grandparents to grandchildren. As much as we’re able to tie the generations together, we inherit the love, the wisdom, the experience, the stories, and even the joy of those who came before us. It’s a kind of birthright, passed down, shaping who we are long before we even realize it.

In our society today, as people marry later and later in life, I see a troubling pattern emerging. More and more children will grow up without truly knowing their grandparents. If a generation waits until nearly forty to marry and have children, it only takes two such generations for grandchildren to be born to eighty-year-old grandparents. Much of the time that could have been spent weaving those relationships together is simply gone. The thread that was meant to bind three generations begins to fray, and finally is irreplaceably is lost.

I feel, more and more as the years go on, what a privilege it has been to live differently. As you know, I live within sight of two of you married children, with the third just two miles up the road. For years now, I’ve lived a short walk through the cedar woods to my own mother, and also within walking distance of her parents until they passed last year. That kind of closeness has shaped our lives in ways both seen and unseen. It has meant shared meals, quick visits, borrowed tools, stories told and retold, tips and recipes passed along, children running freely between homes, and a constant reinforcement that we belong to one another.

I truly believe this kind of interconnectedness is vital not only to family life, but to sustainable communities, to enduring love, and to the passing on of what matters most.

Yesterday, as I was reading with your little brother Ari, I came across a story that deeply stirred something in me. It was about the Whooping Cranes once found in the tens of thousands across North America, their fluted voices marking the changing of seasons. But by the 1940s, due to hunting, urban expansion, and difficult seasons, their population had dwindled to only fifteen birds.

A small group of people set out to save them. They collected eggs, hatched them in safe environments, and began raising a new generation. But their goal was not simply to preserve the cranes in captivity; they wanted to see them fly again, and to fill the skies in the fall and return again on the fresh breeze of spring.

The first challenge was that these young cranes, having been hatched by humans, didn’t know how to migrate. They had lost that knowledge. Then someone discovered that Canadian goslings had imprinted to a fisherman in his boat as to a parent figure! There’s very strong imprint instinct among many migratory birds. So with this knowledge, a man then experimented using an ultralight plane and young birds, and, remarkably, they followed! As they grew, they took to the skies behind the plane and were led along a new migration route. Even more remarkable, they returned to their hatching grounds the following year.

It seemed they had found the solution. The cranes could now be taught to migrate, and the population could recover. So they led them on their migration with ultralight planes, and all seemed well—at first.

But after several years, something went wrong. The population not only wasn’t growing; it was dwindling. Though the cranes could fly and migrate, they weren’t raising their young successfully. These birds raised in captivity rarely tended their eggs. They didn’t protect or nurture their offspring and never guarded their young from predators. Of all the cranes raised in captivity and taught to migrate, only ten chicks survived.

In time, the realization came: these cranes had lost their connection to the previous generation. They had learned to migrate, but they had never had the imprint training to learn how to parent. That knowledge had not been passed on through relationship, through example, through presence.

So the effort changed. Eggs were placed with the few remaining, older, wild cranes, and the young birds were raised by those who still carried the instincts and habits of good parenting. And with that restored connection, the cycle of life could continue.

I’ve not yet fully put words to all that I feel in this story, but something in it has spoken deeply to my heart. It’s not enough to teach our children to “fly”—to succeed, to function, to find their way in the world. They must also remain connected to their roots and to those who can show them how—how to live, how to love, how to nurture, how to stand. We, as parents, must do the same. We must cling to those physical or spiritual “parents” who’ve successfully nurtured and protected others, whose relationships have survived.

There’s something about that early “imprinting” in children that is far more powerful than we often realize. In their earliest years, they’re watching, absorbing, modeling. They will take on our habits, our attitudes, our work ethic, our responses to hardship, and our way of loving others. These things are not only or even primarily taught through explicit instruction but are passed on through lived demonstration and close connections.

As you know, your grandparents had an enormous impact on your lives when you were young, and they continue to shape you even now. Helen, besides regular visits, you exchanged letters with your grandmother every weak through your formative years. I see that same blessing of interaction continuing all the way down to Ari. He spends part of each week with each of his grandparents. He’s being formed in ways that will bear fruit for the rest of his life.

These relationships don’t happen by accident. They must be cultivated. They must be protected. They must be valued highly enough that we make decisions around them.

So my encouragement to you, my daughters, is this: don’t lose sight of the generations, and don’t make light of “imprint training.” Draw near to the generations that went before you. Honor them. Make space for them in your daily lives. And as you build your own families, think not only about what you’re creating in your own home, but how it connects to what came before—and what will come after.

May God help us all to raise children who can both soar and sustain, who are not only capable in the world, but deeply rooted in a culture of love that will endure.

With all my love,

Mom

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you to the interests of others.” (Phil. 2:3-4)

My Dearest Daughters,

From the moment we make Jesus the Lord of our lives, we’re saying that we will no longer be lord. We step off the throne of our own hearts, our minds, our desires; we remove our crown, and place it upon His head.

And when we say that He is Lord, we’re choosing to live now for His kingdom, for His glory—that His desires may come to pass, that His dreams for our lives, and for the lives of many, might be fulfilled through us.

So whenever something becomes all about me, I know that I’ve somehow slipped back onto that throne, and Jesus has been displaced.

In my previous letter, I spoke to you about relationships between women. In my experience, this is one of the most common places where the lordship of Jesus begins to break down and we slip back into ruling over our own ambitions and desires. I want to speak a little further into this with you.

In Philippians 2 we are told:

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you to the interests of others.”

This is a challenging command—to stop living with our own advancement at the center, and instead begin to make room for others to flourish.

I recognize, as I’ve shared with you before, that much of my early life was spent simply growing up. Then, in my twenties, I was trying to figure out who I was. And during that process, ambition was a constant struggle, and competition a persistent adversary.

But as I moved through each decade of my life, I began to notice that the deepest joy and fulfillment I’ve ever known has come not from establishing my own place but from helping others step into theirs.

I think often of my father. He founded the church community that we’re now part of, a community that has grown and spread far beyond what any of us could have imagined. And yet, he never built his life around himself. He could have remained a single, prominent pastor, earning a large salary with a large congregation. He could have held tightly to influence, but he didn’t. He lived simply, even in a mobile home until just a few years before he passed.

He believed that all the saints were called to the work of the ministry, and he shared what he’d been given.

But even more than that, there was something in his heart that marked him. I remember coming home from a service while he was ill and telling him how another brother had brought a powerful word, a word that brought victory and life to many. My father lifted his hands, weeping, rejoicing that the Word of God had come so powerfully through someone else. And this was not unusual for him.

It was only later in life that I realized that this is not common.

We must learn to rejoice when others take their place.

One of the clearest ways to know whether the Lord is on the throne or we are sitting on the throne of our own hearts is to ask yourself this: Can I rejoice when someone else does something better than I did or steps into a place I once held?

In recent years, I’ve experienced this myself. I have watched some of you begin to fill places I once filled—for example, Helen, in music. I see younger midwives rising up, and I know that one day I will step aside and no longer fill that role. And to my own surprise and delight, this brings me joy, because it means that what was sown was not planted into myself—but into the kingdom.

When we plant the seeds of our calling only into the soil of our own ambitions, they become like annual plants—springing up quickly, blooming for a moment, and then passing away with us.

But when we plant into others, into our children, whether natural or spiritual, into the lives entrusted to us, those seeds become perennial, sustainable. They endure and carry on long after we’re gone.

This is the nature of the Body of Christ. It is vast, interconnected, and full of many parts. And when someone greater comes along, we must, like John the Baptist, say:

“I must decrease, that He might increase.”

I’ve seen this in music ministry. I’ve seen it in ministry of the word. Those who are truly used by God must be willing to make room for even greater expressions than their own so that the kingdom advances, not their personal story.

Does this mean we stop growing? Stop trying? Stop offering what we have? No, not at all! We continue to learn. We continue to give. We continue to become faithful with what is ours to carry.

But we must also learn to rejoice, deeply and sincerely, when others succeed, because His kingdom is coming!

Women, especially, can be tempted toward comparison and competition. We may feel threatened when another woman shines. But this is simply a clear sign that something in us has stepped back onto the throne, that we have begun, again, to live for ourselves and think, it’s all about me.

But when you can truly rejoice in the success of your sisters, your children, and the people of God—when their victories bring you as much joy, or even more, than your own—then He is reigning!

Then you’re no longer building your own kingdom. You are participating in His.

So rejoice—always.

Rejoice when others succeed.

Rejoice even when they succeed in the very thing you once did or longed to do—because it was never about you. It was always about His kingdom.

With all my love,

Mom

Dearest Daughters,

I would like to speak to you about the relationships between women—woman to woman.

How should we relate to one another? And more specifically, what do we do when we see a need in a sister, a neighbor, or a friend? Do we feel threatened by other women?

Inevitably, we are human. We are broken and see only in part, so we will all notice weaknesses, failures, and faults in one another. But what we do in those moments, when we see, is what reveals whether we are truly walking as Christians.

There are few things I have witnessed that are more harmful to the body of Christ, to His image that we are meant to represent, than the ways women sometimes treat one another. This grieves me deeply. May God help us all.

Let us begin with perspective. God made us as mothers to be mothers, to nurture and raise children. Children need a specific type of guidance. Scripture tells us, “Now I say, that the heir, as long as he is a child, differs nothing from a servant . . . but is under tutors and governors until the time appointed of the father” (Gal. 4:1-2).

In the home, we understand this more personally: for a time, we become that governing tutor. Our “do this” and “do not do that” shape our children’s days. We watch their behavior, their habits, their responsibilities, closely, guiding them toward maturity and, ultimately, toward Christ. We might say they live under “the law” of “do’s” and “don’t’s” until they come to Christ and to adulthood.

But the difficulty arises when we carry that same “tutoring” “under the law” posture beyond its rightful place.

When our children grow into adulthood, or when we begin to treat other women as though they are under our instruction, correcting and managing them—we step into something that was never given to us. This kind of micromanaging is a form of legalism and can be deeply harmful.

God has given us authority within our own households. He has not given us that same authority over the souls of other women.

Yes, Scripture tells us that older women should teach the younger women (Tit. 2:3-5). But it specifies this instruction is to help them love their husbands and children, to walk in godliness—not to scrutinize, judge, and attempt to control one another’s every step.

If you have not been given permission to plow another woman’s garden, then to do so is trespassing.

So how, then, should we live among one another? A woman should live an exemplary life. Let her demonstrate her faith in God through her actions, her attitudes, and her prayers. Let her show others how to love by loving her own husband through service, kindness, honor, and affection. Let her demonstrate stewardship of her home with care—through the tending of her children, the order of her household, and the thoughtfulness of her provision. Let her exemplify perseverance with her prayers, in faithfulness, in serving and loving the body of Christ. When a woman lives this way, others will begin to ask her how.

And when they ask, when they invite her in, then she may speak, gently and humbly. She must teach through her own story, not as a ruler, but as one who has received grace.

If a woman says, “Please help me. Speak into my life. I am struggling,” then you have been released to help her—but always with meekness and kindness.

But apart from that invitation, do not criticize your neighbor! To do so is to trespass upon another soul.

Even more harmful than direct, uninvited nitpicking, is this: to pick apart your neighbor in conversation with others. Scripture warns us plainly, “A talebearer reveals secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit conceals the matter” (Prov. 11:13). And again, “Where there is no talebearer, the strife ceases” (Prov. 26:20).

This, unfortunately, is a common and grievous pitfall. I have seen it both in the world and, sadly, within the church.

When I was in medical training, I noticed a pattern at the nurse’s stations. Conversations among women mainly revolved around two things: tearing down their husbands and dissecting other women. The only consistently positive thread was something as trite as beauty tips. It grieved me. There was a kind of unhealthy camaraderie formed in shared criticism and complaining.

But a godly woman does not build relationships this way. Gossip tears down not only the one being spoken of, but the one who speaks, and the very fabric of trust between them. Even those who listen, contribute and laugh, will never trust you, because they know you will one day speak of them in the same way.

There is a dynamic, sometimes subtle and hidden, that often provokes this destructive behavior between women. When any woman flourishes—whether in motherhood, education, skill, beauty, or calling—other women attempt to demean and tear her down.

In the world, this is often loud and visible on social media. You can pretty much count on it. As soon as anyone has success, the vultures gather to pick it apart. But in the church, it should not be this way! However, it sometimes does appear, typically in a quieter and more insinuated form. You’ve heard it:

“I’m not sure her approach is best…”

“I’ve heard others question it…”

“There are studies that say otherwise…”

“I think she doesn’t really get you..”

“I can help you with a much better route…”

And slowly, like a cancer, confidence is eroded, trust is weakened, and the work of God through the individual being attacked is undermined. This spirit is not from God. It echoes the accuser of the brethren. It mirrors Absalom at the gate, drawing hearts away—not for righteousness, but for his own elevation.

In another example from the Bible, when David gained victory over Goliath and the Philistines, Saul, who had once loved him and desired him as a son-in-law, began to hate him. He spent the remainder of his life seeking to kill David and destroy his reputation. Scripture tells us that a distressing spirit came upon Saul.

This same spirit can be seen in Cain when he rose up against Abel, and in Esau when he burned with anger toward Jacob. It is a spirit that can come upon any of us when we feel threatened by the success of another.

We must recognize it for what it is—envy. This distressing spirit increases anxiety, breeds insecurity, and subtly moves us to undermine our sisters or brothers. It is not from God; it is from the accuser of the brethren. It is the motive that caused the Pharisees to turn over Jesus Himself to death.

Sometimes women yield to this kind of subversion knowingly. But often, they do not. They are simply moved by their own insecurity, by a desire to be seen, or perhaps by wounds not yet healed. So they feel threatened by the security, visibility, and purpose in others.

I plead with you, and I pray this for myself as well: Do not participate in gossip. Do not engage in subtle undermining. Do not use words, either small or great, to diminish another in order to elevate yourself.

For “every wise woman builds her house: but the foolish plucks it down with her hands” (Prov. 14:1).

This is how a woman tears down her house and God’s house. Instead, choose a better way. Speak words of kindness. Guard the reputations of others as you would your own. Commit yourself to speak good, and only good, of your companions! And when you cannot truthfully speak good, remain silent.

Mind your own household.

Tend the garden God has given you.

And in doing so, you will be known as a woman of honor—one who can be trusted, one whose presence brings peace rather than division. If you do these things, the Proverbs tell us you will be respected in the gates (Prov. 31).

With all my love,

Mom