when the Lord speaks to our children

I’ve always prayed that Vivian would learn to hear the Lord for herself.

Not in the way I did growing up by trying to please people, reading the room, doing what was expected. I never wanted her to carry that weight. I never wanted her faith to be shaped by pressure, compliance, or someone else’s timeline. I’ve carried enough of that for both of us.

What I longed for was something different: that she would know His voice. That she would recognize His nearness. That she would learn to respond to Him because she wanted Him, not because someone nudged her forward.

And if I’m honest, I also prayed that I would never get in the way.

I wanted to guide her, not script her. Support her, not steer her. Model faith, not manufacture it.

This baptism season unfolded better than I'd ever imagined.

Because it unfolded in a way I could never take credit for.

the night the Lord whispered twice

A few weeks ago, at our “besties small group” at Aunt Kathy’s house (the kind of space where stories spill out easily and the Spirit tends to tug gently) we were given a simple assignment. Each woman was handed a small slip of paper and asked to write a prayer for someone. We wouldn’t know who the prayer would go to; we would just write, fold, and place it in a numbered envelope.

No names. No hints. Just a prayer whispered between you and the Lord.

Without overthinking, I wrote what had already been sitting heavy on my heart: a prayer that Vivian would lean into what the Lord was trying to tell her. That her spirit would be tender. That she would feel His nudge... not mine. That she would be burdened to respond to Him in a way that was hers alone.

I folded the paper. Slipped it into the envelope. Tried not to think too much about where it might end up.

When it came time to draw, I chose an envelope that wasn’t my number and tucked it into my Bible. I didn’t open it right away. I figured I’d read it later, maybe at home when things were quiet.

I had no idea what was coming.

her little face in the corner said it all: “mom…i need to talk"

After Bible study, I could tell Vivian was unsettled. Not emotional in the dramatic sense but just visibly stirred. Something was pressing on her, and I recognized the look. It was the same mix of conviction and tender pressure the Spirit uses when He’s calling attention to something deeper.

She didn’t want to talk at first. She wasn’t ready. But after a little space and a gentle nudge, she finally agreed to chat with me privately.

We stepped away from the noise of the house, and her eyes met mine. Wide, honest, a little overwhelmed and full of tears.

She whispered, “I think the Lord is telling me to be baptized.”

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t parroting something she’d overheard. She wasn’t thinking about who might be proud or what comes next. She was simply responding to what she sensed God saying and admitting it out loud felt both vulnerable and brave.

I didn’t push. I didn’t celebrate too loudly.I didn’t turn it into a moment to teach.

I just listened.

And thanked God quietly that He was speaking to her in a way she recognized.

the envelope i wasn’t expecting

Later that night, after she’d gone to bed, I remembered the envelope still tucked in my Bible. I opened it slowly, expecting a simple prayer from one of the women… but instead, I froze.

It was a handwriting that I recognized.

Her prayer.

On her slip of paper.

I had drawn Vivian’s prayer.

The very words I had written, asking God to speak to her, guide her, stir her, and draw her into obedience, had come back to me but from HER perspective.

Literally into my hands. And that same night, completely separate from the exercise, she had told me that the Lord was calling her to take her next step.

It felt like the Lord winked at me. Not a loud miracle, not a dramatic sign but just a quiet confirmation that He hears, He leads, and He shepherds our children with more tenderness than we ever could.

It was a holy kind of full circle.

this baptism wasn’t about me and that’s the gift

There’s a deep relief in knowing your child’s faith isn’t being propped up by your voice but guided by His.

Because as much as we care… we are not the Holy Spirit. We can create space. We can model humility. We can pray, bless, and listen.

But we cannot call our children. We cannot convict them. We cannot awaken obedience in their hearts.

Only God can do that.

Vivian’s baptism felt like an answer to prayer, but even more than that... it felt like a release. A reminder that her walk with the Lord is not a performance and not an extension of my story.

It’s hers.

And the same God who met me in my mess, my striving, and my late-in-life awakening is meeting her in her youth, her curiosity, and her quiet obedience.

There is no pressure in that. No performance. No timeline. No fear.

Just a girl listening to the Shepherd’s voice and a mom standing back, grateful and undone.

“my sheep hear my voice…”

Jesus says in John 10:27,“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”

That’s what I witnessed. Not a cultural ritual. Not a family expectation. Not a box checked.

But a young girl learning what it means to recognize the voice of her Savior and responding with a simple, steady yes.

And as a mother, there is no greater joy than stepping aside and watching God lead your child directly.

That envelope at Aunt Kathy’s was just icing on the cake and a gentle reminder that the Lord is always doing more behind the scenes than we think. He is faithful not just in the big, cinematic moments, but in the quiet, deeply personal ones:

A whispered prayer. A folded slip of paper. A conversation in a side room. A baptism decided not from pressure, but from presence.

Vivian listened.

The Lord spoke and I had the privilege of witnessing a little piece of holy ground unfold.

May her ears stay open. May her heart stay soft and may I continue learning to hold my children with open hands, trusting that the God who speaks to them is the same God who has been faithfully speaking to me.