In the morning, LORD, You hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before You and wait expectantly. —Psalm 5:3
That You May Dance
Dearest Daughters,
I want to write these letters to you before some of you begin the journey of marriage, and as others of you grow in the adventure of motherhood. I’d like to share the lessons I’ve learned in the years God has given me as wife, homemaker and mother. These lessons have been hard-won in juggling a very full life: as a mother, a minister’s wife, a teacher, a midwife, a friend. Through it all, I’ve tried to remain close to Jesus and to feel His love, to love Him back and to bear the fruits of His Spirit.
I’m not writing because I’ve done all this perfectly but because I’ve been an overcomer. I’ve learned a lot from falling and failing! And I hope to keep being an overcomer. My failures have been excellent teachers, and I hope that some of what I’ve learned through them can become your foundation, so that you can build upon stones I stumbled over. Like rocks in a river, these obstacles have shaped the flow of my life, making it stronger and deeper, and I believe they’ll do the same for you.
I know you’ll still have your own faltering steps, as that’s part of the journey. But I believe you’ll walk further down the road than I have, and in doing so, you’ll become part of that ancient journey of faith that began with Abraham and Sarah and, I pray, will continue through your children and grandchildren.
If there is one thing I could urge you never to neglect, it is to cultivate the presence of God.
You remember that I was always the first to rise in the morning. In the dark, I made a sanctuary in my heart and time for peace and prayer. I stepped outside beneath the stars, listened to music or read my Bible. I wrote down my thoughts and prayers, my hopes and my repentances. I sought Him early, because I knew I needed to, because His presence is inspiration, strength and my source of love.
And throughout the day, I tried to stay in that space and to walk in His presence.
You’ve known it yourselves, that feeling in worship, when the music lofts your spirit upward. You’ve experienced moments by the ocean, watching the waves stretch into eternity, or felt a hush at the foot of a mountain. We’ve all seen the radiant sunset that stops us in our tracks, where awe fills the soul and whispers, God is big, and I am small, and still He loves me. That’s the place you must learn to stay.
From that place, every conversation, with your husband, with your children, with others, can become a dance, a holy dance within the circle of His arms. Sometimes it looks like laughing over a spelling test triumph and buying ice cream to celebrate. Sometimes the dance is calling a neighbor at just the right moment with just the right word. Sometimes the steps and the sway are making a beautiful meal and offering it with joy.
But this dance isn’t only for Sunday mornings in church, but it can be in the kitchen, the laundry room, the garden and the grocery aisle. We’ve got to learn the rhythm and the steps. We must develop an ear for the music.
And so this letter, which has already grown into a series of letters I’ll be sending you, is really about that dance.
My prayer for each of you is: That you may dance.
With all my love,
Mom