Praying for Your Children
Four specific ways to pray for your children.
Reading Psalm 18 with my little guy.
I’d be lying if I said most mornings look like this.
This is one of those rare quiet moments where I forget all about my lack of sleep and crazy hormones and think, Please, God, let it always be this way. Let him stay small and in my arms forever.
It’s a moment that forces me to slow down, to breathe in deeply that sweet baby smell, and to praise God above for being kinder than I ever thought possible.
A moment where I can’t help but know that God exists and that He is very, very good.
There are many days now where my time with the Lord looks a lot different than this photo. Days can go by at lightning speed in which I barely look up before realizing it’s practically time for bed again. My head hits the pillow, and I talk to God, confessing that I wished I had talked to Him more throughout the day but thanking Him for sustaining my family and me.
But then there are days like this one where I stumble out of bed after however many precious hours of sleep, put on a pot of coffee, make some oatmeal, and sit at the kitchen table. I put my son on my lap, and he sits there quietly. Curiously. Listening, watching, taking it all in as I read the Word. Sometimes I read aloud and he coos along in a way that feels like maybe it’s God’s doing. Maybe he’s cooing in agreement.
Those are the mornings that I cling to—those moments that don’t come every day. They may not even come every week. But they make it all worth it. They make motherhood and staying at home worth it. They make being exhausted worth it. It is a privilege and an honor to be this guy’s momma and stay at home with him full-time. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Motherhood is the hardest and the best job I’ve ever had.
When I’m able to start the day in the Word with my son, I think, Wow, how on earth did I become so fortunate that God would bestow this on me and allow me to live this way?
Some days I feel way more in tune with God, and we’re having a conversation all day and all night long. Back when this babe was still a tiny guy, I was awake almost every hour and nursing him for such long periods. Now we’re in a rhythm where he sleeps a bit longer, and he’s getting bigger, slowly but surely. I try to remind myself at 3 a.m. when I’m nursing him, rocking him, cuddling him—in my half-awake, half-asleep state—that these days will soon be gone. They will be in the past, and I’ll never get them back again. I want to soak it up now and not be in too much of a rush to get him to sleep perfectly or eat perfectly or do all the things that I want him to do so that I can “live my life.” This right here is me living my life. I want to simply enjoy the time we have because the time is fleeting.
As I pray for him, I pray in four specific ways. Months ago while I was still pregnant, I heard a guest on Moody Radio talking about how to pray for your children. I’ve searched and searched, and I still cannot find who this guest was to give him credit. (If you know, please comment below!) He provided four pillars to guide your prayer life, and I immediately jotted them down on a Post-It note. These four categories have been foundational for me. They’ve helped anchor my prayers for my son.
Prayer is not an afterthought. It’s not something to do when you feel you have no other options. It’s the first option. Prayer unites us with God. Prayer tunes our hearts into what God is saying to us. The most important thing we can do for our kids is pray. I pray that my son would come to know and love the Lord with his whole heart at a young age. I pray he would want a real relationship with Christ, not because he wants to please mom and dad, but because he feels a stirring in his soul.
Here are four ways to pray for your children, and if you aren’t a parent, try praying these for yourself, family, and friends:
1. Character
I pray my son would seek to know God’s character. I pray he would know that the Bible is a story about God. God is our rock, stronghold, strength, fortress, deliverer, refuge, salvation (Psalm 18). He is righteous, faithful, and just. Full of grace, mercy, and love. I pray he would know who God is and seek to be more like Him every day.
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”
I pray against addiction of any kind and against sexual sin. I pray he would want to live his life like Christ.
2. Identity
In this crazy world we are living in, I firmly believe one of the best ways we can disciple our children is to encourage them in their God-given identity. They need to know not what the culture says about them, but what God deems true about them.
“So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”
I’ve memorized this verse and plan to teach it to my son. I recite it to him while I change his diaper. I want him to know that he was created by God, in the image of God, as a boy who will one day grow into a man. I pray he becomes a Godly man. That he embraces his God-given masculinity and whatever gifts God bestows on him. The book Bringing Up Boys by Dr. James Dobson has been incredibly helpful for Charles and me as we embark on this journey of parenthood. (He’s also written Bringing Up Girls if you have a daughter.)
3. Relationships
I pray for my relationship and my husband’s relationship with our son. I pray for his future teachers, coaches, and pastors. I ask that these people would protect him, encourage him to walk in the way of the Lord, and show him practically what it looks like to follow Jesus. I pray for my son’s friends—that they, too, would encourage him and challenge him in his faith. I also pray for a Godly woman to be his wife one day.
4. Mission
We’re all called to live missionally and share the truth of the Gospel. God sent His only son Jesus, to live a perfect life on earth as a man and die for our sins. He took on the death that we deserve because of the fall. Jesus rose again to sit on the throne in the Kingdom, thereby defeating death as we know it and granting eternal life to all who turn from sin and believe in Him.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.”
That’s my prayer for my little one, too. I pray he would believe. I pray he would share the light of Christ no matter where he lives and works in the future—whether he’s a businessman, a writer, a pastor, a missionary. Whatever vocation he’s called to, God’s will is that he would live for Him and share Him with others. I pray my son recognizes this and presses into it.
Character, identity, relationships, mission. Four simple but profound ways to pray for and disciple your children every day. I’m thankful for that guest on Moody Radio whose prayers I’ll never forget.
What do you think of these pillars? How do you pray for your kids?
My Son's Birth Story
The last photo of me before I went into labor!
My son is now seven weeks old. I can’t believe how fast the time is going by. I’ve been working on his birth story the last few weeks, and today I can finally share it with you.
Sunday, March 31, the night before he arrived, I was sitting on the couch watching TV. Charles was at work, so I texted him a few photos of my belly—which was moving in ways it never had before. We texted back and forth about how it looked like the baby was really leaning to one side. At 9 p.m., he texted me:
“What do you think that is?”
I replied, “I’m not sure. Maybe a contraction of my uterus? It’s been happening all night.”
I finished this blog post a little after that and then texted Charles again: “Is this early labor?”
We weren’t sure. I wasn’t in any pain, so I didn’t know what to think. I ended up going to bed and slept for about an hour. When I woke up around midnight, I felt serious cramping, and it was painful. The best way I can describe it was like strong period cramps—not unbearable, but certainly noticeable. I sent Charles another message, telling him I thought this was it. Like we learned in our birthing class, he encouraged me to sleep. But I couldn’t. I stayed in bed, but the pain kept me up. I thought about eating a snack for energy, except I had no appetite and actually felt a bit sick.
Charles told me to call him the second I felt sure this was labor and I wanted him to come home. I held out because I still wasn’t convinced I was in labor yet, and I didn’t want him to drive home for a false alarm.
Time passed by quickly. Then around 3 a.m., I called Charles.
“You need to come home now. This is the real deal.”
He raced home and helped me get comfortable. He took a shower and ate, and he made sure our hospital bags were truly ready to go. I was still lying in bed, but even doing that hurt. Charles began timing my contractions in his notebook.
Around this time, Charles suggested we sit on the couch together and watch The Office. (Another recommendation from our birth class for how husbands can help.)
Well, I couldn’t sit on the couch. I got down on all fours in front of the TV and took deep breaths, as the contractions came like waves. We barely made it through the familiar opening credits as I moaned loudly on the flour—too loud to hear Michael Scott say anything. Charles continued timing my contractions, and we kept checking the guide from our hospital. I still hadn’t hit the point at which they advised I go in.
I decided to get in the shower. The hot water was about the only thing that felt good during this time. Charles continued monitoring my contractions, but I often had to catch my breath and didn’t want to talk to tell him when I was having one. I kept snapping at him—how could he expect me to be chatty at a time like this? Just look at me and figure out when the contractions come!
After the hot water ran out, I got out of the shower. Again, I had to get down on all fours, this time on the bath mat. Charles massaged my back. He then called and left a message for the hospital’s nurse on call.
Time went by in a blur.
Around 7 a.m., I went to the bathroom and saw a gush of blood. Immediately Charles said it’s time to go to the hospital. We got in our car, and thank the Lord, the hospital is only a five-minute drive from where we live. We dealt with a little bit of rush-hour traffic and then struggled to find parking. Charles had the hospital map printed out, along with directions of where to go. He was in the zone, following signs and making sure he took me exactly where we needed to be. But of course, I was giving him a hard time. Sitting in this car makes the contractions feel worse. Just park already! (Sorry, dear.)
Charles told me that right as he parked, I gripped the seat and said, “Dear, Jesus.”
As you can tell, I was a lot of fun during this time.
We quickly walked into the hospital and rode the elevator to triage, stopping along the way as I had contractions and needed to catch my breath. I’m pretty sure a man rode in the elevator along with us. What a sight for him!
Around 7:30 a.m., I checked in at triage, and a nurse immediately brought me into a room to examine me. We told her how the night had progressed, and then she told me I was dilated to 6 centimeters.
What?!
I was in full active labor and almost to the transition stage. I had figured I’d be in the hospital with an epidural way before this point. In fact, during pregnancy I feared that I would get to the hospital in pain, and the nurses would tell me to go home until I was further along.
This is my first baby; I simply had no idea what the pain level would really feel like. I was following along with the guide we received at our birthing class. While I might have gone to the hospital earlier had I known, I am super thankful my birth story turned out this way.
My doctor came into the room—a total God thing she was at the hospital and available!—and said, “I’m sticking around until this baby comes. You’re going to deliver your son today!”
I felt so excited and ready to go. Charles, a nurse, and I walked down the hall, again stopping with each contraction, and I went into a room where a team of anesthesiologists promptly met me.
The lead doctor thoroughly explained all of my pain management options to me. I told her I’d like an epidural, so I signed the paperwork and was hooked up to an IV. I remember having to sit up straight on the edge of the bed, staying as still as I could, as my nurse helped steady me and the team of, I think, four administered the epidural. I never saw what they did because it all happened quickly and in my back out of sight. I found the whole procedure to be very smooth and fast.
Afterward, the anesthesiologist checked my legs and my numbness, as well as my pain level. I had an additional button for pain medicine that would come through my IV and that I could administer myself up to every 10 minutes.
The relief of the epidural was almost instant. And let me tell you: I felt like a new woman. I was relaxed, at ease, and even more excited. I was able to hold a conversation again, and despite only sleeping 1 hour that night, I was energized.
My doctor came in to see me around 8 a.m. (yes, this all happened very fast!), and she told me I was dilated to 8 centimeters. The transition phase. Labor was progressing quickly, and now we’d just wait until the time came to push.
Charles and I talked, and we both tried to rest. He was running on zero sleep whatsoever, poor guy. At this point, we took out the Scripture cards that I had packed and read through them. I focused especially on this one:
“Haven’t I commanded you: be strong and courageous? Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
Charles ate a few of the snacks we brought, while I enjoyed the provided apple juice, popsicles, and plenty of ice water. That’s all I was allowed to eat, and I figured doing so would help me gain some energy, especially because I hadn’t eaten anything in about 12 hours.
Unfortunately, I think the popsicles and my chugging water came back to get me. Over the next two hours or so, I ended up vomiting three times—once quite violently where Charles had to hold onto me. It was uncomfortable and frustrating, but thankfully each incident started and ended very quickly. If you know me, you know I’ve had an irrational fear of throwing up for a few years now. I get overly nervous when I hear anyone I know has a stomach bug. During pregnancy, I would cry when I felt like throwing up and also when I did, and I’d been extremely fearful of labor for the past few months simply because of the potential I’d vomit.
God really showed up for me during labor, and He gave me the strength to push through the vomiting. My nurse and doctor were not thrown off by what happened. They actually told me my throwing up helped move the baby farther down, and it was my body’s way of getting everything out of me so it could focus solely on delivery. Since this has happened I feel much more relaxed about throwing up now. While I don’t like it, I wouldn’t say it’s an irrational fear anymore. I could write a whole post on this and how it’s rooted in my desire for control, but I’ll save that for another day. If this sounds like you, though, please reach out to me! I know at least six women who share (or used to share) this same fear.
Between the vomiting and a heavy dose of acid reflux, I was feeling pretty uncomfortable. Both of those symptoms bothered me more than any pain. My nurse put medicine in my IV to help treat both, and after that, I felt significantly better.
At 1 p.m., it was time to push. Yay! Let’s do this, I thought.
I asked my doctor how long the pushing phase usually lasts. She said it could take 30 minutes or 3 hours, but she doubted I’d push for too long given how quickly everything else had progressed.
I did, in fact, push for 3 hours. And it was my favorite part of delivery. I wasn’t in pain; the best way I can describe pushing was that I felt pressure. I knew our son would be arriving any minute, and I was beyond ready to meet him. The more I pushed, the sooner labor would be over, and Charles would be in my arms.
Some time during those three hours, more nurses came into the room, which made us worry something was wrong. Everything was okay, though, and I just kept focusing on what my doctor and nurse told me to do. They gave me an oxygen mask to wear between contractions, and that really helped me catch my breath and regain my strength for each push. I felt like I was at the end of a marathon, pushing toward a personal record. This was the moment!
At 3:57 p.m., my doctor told me to stop pushing, and suddenly our baby was here! She immediately brought Charles up to me and put him on my chest, where he was quickly cleaned off and began to nurse. I’d never felt emotion like that before. I cried uncontrollably—the most natural happy tears—as my husband and I snuggled this precious little one. After nine long months, here he was in our arms. We spent the next hour just the three of us in that room. Our golden hour to bond without any interruption. It was the greatest moment of my life.
The love we feel for our son is unlike anything else. I really can’t describe it. Becoming parents has been the greatest joy of our lives. Motherhood is overwhelming, exhausting, and hard. Yet even with sleep deprivation and raging hormones, I am so full of love and joy. I’m learning sacrifice and selflessness; I now see a small snippet of the way the Father loves us.
There was a time where I didn’t know if I’d become a mother. I didn’t know if I’d get married, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to conceive given my health history. Through this pregnancy and now motherhood, The Lord has shown me that when it seems there is no way, He makes a way. He knows what is best, and He is always working for our good and His glory. He loves us unconditionally, and He delights to give us the kingdom.
Thank you, thank you, thank you Father.
My whole heart.