Faith Thought My Daughter's Eyes

This article was first published for Daughters of Promise last fall. I thought I would share it here today because slow prayers are still my life line.... especially when my brain feels distracted and cluttered with everything happening in our world.

Faith Through My Daughter’s Eyes

Motherhood has taught me a thing or two. I’ve learned how to pull the nursery door shut without making the hinges squeak. I’ve learned to accomplish almost any task with a baby on my hip. It has made me redefine success. Most importantly, it has helped me view my faith through new eyes, the eyes of my child. I have two stories I want to share with you.

When my oldest daughter, Vienna, was just learning to talk in sentences, I had chosen a day to pray and fast about a situation weighing heavy on my heart. I got her settled at the table to eat her lunch and then went to the couch to pray again. After a few minutes, she wandered into the living room and asked why I wasn’t eating. I told her I was praying. “I want to pray,” she said. I pulled her up beside me and began to help her pray. I spoke the words one at a time so that she could repeat them after me. “Dear (dear) God (God)...” and so our prayer began. 

I had been praying about this situation all day. Talking to God about it over and over. Asking, repeatedly, for a miracle. I was weary and felt like I had prayed all the words there were to pray. As I prayed slowly, pausing a second between words while Vienna repeated them, something shifted in my heart. All pretense fell away. Gone were the complicated phrases and difficult words that normally filled my prayers. In their place was a simple, thoughtful prayer that a child could understand. It was the most meaningful prayer I prayed that whole day and it changed the way I talk to God.

The thing is, I am really good at talking. I have many words to say about any given subject and I despise awkward gaps in conversation. My desire for an incessant stream of conversation bled over into my prayer life. It looked like me telling God everything at a very rapid pace and rarely pausing to listen. Upon whispering “Amen,” I really couldn’t remember what I had just prayed. It was a one-sided conversation. That prayer with Vienna showed me that the power of prayer does not come in the number of words prayed per minute. God doesn’t mind if we use the simplest language; He only wants to hear our hearts. 

Now, when I feel especially burdened about something, I will purposely pray very slowly. I whisper one word at a time, intentionally allowing space in the conversation for Him to speak. These slow prayers that would sound rather ridiculous if spoken out loud, have become sacred to me. It’s in the quiet spaces of our conversation that I have learned to enter into His presence more fully.

The second instance of Vienna showing me faith through her eyes happened just a few weeks ago. I was helping her memorize Psalm 23. I think it’s safe to say that Psalm 23 is the most popular chapter in the Bible. It has been torn apart and expounded on by every pastor, over every pulpit, in every denomination. I wasn’t expecting or even looking for any brand new revelation in these verses, yet it showed up in her innocent confusion of words.

The first verse begins, “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” Vienna said, “The Lord is my shepherd, I should not want.” Her substitution of the Old English word, shall, with a common word, should, made the verse real to me in a brand new way.

Immediately, I thought of all the things on my mental wish list: the new patio furniture, a solid night of sleep, and the restoration of a broken relationship. I felt Jesus cup my face in his hands, look me in the eyes, and whisper, “Geneva, I am your Shepherd. You shouldn’t want. I am everything you need.”

That thought lingered with me for days. When I felt the seeds of discontentment start to take root, I came back to those words. “I shouldn’t want. Jesus is enough.” It refocused my heart on the One who satisfies my every need.

I have been a mom for only three and a half short years. I am not the same woman I was prior to pushing life out into this world. For a while, I resented this fact. I didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror and it made me angry. I thought I had lost someone good. Now, I can see that God is replacing her with someone better, someone kinder, someone softer. As my daughters mature, my faith continues to grow more childlike. This is what He longs for me. “Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3, KJV).

Today, I thank God for the way motherhood is reshaping me. I anticipate the way the coming decades of raising girls will make me more like Him.