“He tends His flock like a shepherd. He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those that have young.” — Isaiah 40:11
“And 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 Corinthians 3:18
My Dearest Daughters,
Especially in the early years, we teach our children not only by what we say, but by who we are. Children are mirrors. They both imitate and absorb. Their earliest sense of safety, identity, and worth comes from reflection—how we reflect love, how we conduct ourselves and how we live. You’ve seen your little girls shushing and rocking their babies just like you, crossing their legs and adjusting their skirt just so. They’re reflecting you! Your children will reflect your love, imitate your surrender, and mirror your nurture. They will be joyful if you are joyful and secure if you are grounded. They will be strong if you are strong—or fearful whenever you’re anxious.
Sadly they don’t only mirror our strengths; they will mirror our weaknesses! A cynical tone toward your husband will become the tone they later use toward you. An overwhelmed sigh at the duties of life will teach them that life is “too much,” instead of a privilege to be embraced with gratitude. A distracted mommy—always half-present and half-elsewhere—will teach them to disconnect from you, from their father, and ultimately from God.
Unfortunately children don’t only copy the things we wish they’d remember; in fact they often forget those! But they absorb so much that we never intended to teach, like our attitudes, habits and posture. But take heart, because repentance, gratitude, and starting over again when we fail, shapes them just as deeply as our failures do. Even our imperfections can be teachers when we allow God to finish the lesson.
Just as we are made in the image of God, our children pour themselves into the mold of our example.
If your child is to understand the church—the Bride of Christ—let them first see it in you. When you demonstrate what it means to be a godly bride to your husband, your children begin to understand what it means for the church to belong to Christ. The respect and attentiveness that you give to your spouse will become the attentiveness they’ll learn to offer others—and to God.
The beauty with which you prepare a gift, your home or a meal show them how to prepare their hearts for the Lord.
The surrender with which you lay down your own agenda to come under your husband’s mission teaches them what it means to yield to Christ.
The transparency with which you speak shows them the honesty and trust with which we must relate to God and His people.
Your willingness to offer yourself as a living sacrifice—holding nothing back, without reluctance—makes Jesus’ sacrifice real to them.
I saw this when I was growing up.
At night, I would lie in bed and hear my father pray. He would walk the floor, whispering, rejoicing, at times groaning or weeping—words I couldn’t always understand, but I could feel God’s presence. The Spirit of God passed through the wall and into my room, and I knew—without anyone explaining—that God was real. I knew He was near.
And I learned how to listen by watching my own mother, in the way she paused when Dad was talking, in the way she answered. I saw the way she touched the hearts of those who reached out to her. She didn’t dismiss or rush them but fully engaged in the struggles of others. And because she cared, I also learned to reach out.
Then came a time in my own mothering when I had to learn all this again.
Your young brother had already been diagnosed with autism. For many years, it felt nearly impossible to find even a square inch of common ground or to understand how he thought, what frightened him, or how he made sense of his confused world. His responses baffled me. His inability to communicate sometimes broke me. But through that long, humbling journey, I began to learn a deeper dimension of love than I knew existed.
In our efforts to connect with him, I began to look for even the smallest thread that could connect us. I had once read that mirroring your child by copying their actions, might engage their attention. So when he sorted blocks, I sorted blocks. When he crawled on the floor, I crawled too, hoping for him to glance at me.
One of the few things that brought him comfort was crawling inside a pillow sham—pillow and all—and rolling under the bed. It didn’t make sense to us, but it somehow comforted him. He needed that pressure and feeling of being cocooned. Maybe he needed to have control over his sensations. But anyway, at that time, this was how he created a world that felt safe for him.
And so one day, when he was upset and began to disappear into that familiar cocoon, I grabbed a second pillow, climbed into another sham, and crawled under the bed beside him. I didn’t say anything, but he looked at me with big, brown eyes, and then . . . he laughed! And in that laughter, something burst open. A bridge was built. A gap was closed.
I felt in that moment, that maybe I was understanding just a little of what it meant to be a mother after Christ’s heart. To lay aside dignity, comprehension, and ease. To clothe myself in my child’s world and meet him where he was, because that’s exactly what Jesus did for us.
He came to where we were—when we were far off. He clothed Himself in our weakness, our grief, our limitations. He didn’t wait for us to rise to Him but stooped down and lifted us from our brokenness.
These daily small acts of empathy, of laying down control to find love and connection, are at the sacred center of what it means to be a mom.
And yet, this calling is too great to carry alone, but that is exactly the point. You weren’t meant to mother without God. He doesn’t ask you to be divine but to be surrendered. He wants us to depend on Him and to be anchored in His love.
Let your children watch you pause from whatever occupies you to listen for God and for the needs of your family. Let them feel your nearness to them and the Lord. Let them hear you weep and see you worship. May your hands be holy in mundane, everyday places. May you are raise your children to be worshipers, image-bearers of their Father and heirs to a promise older than time.
So let them look through the window of you and see the face of God.
“And 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 Corinthians 3:18
Love,
Mom