mama3girls-phnig

Hey y’all.

Before I tell you about my spirit baby, a little backstory.

As a kid, the only thing I knew for sure about my future was that I’d be a Sunday school teacher.

Everything else?

Total mystery.

I grew up RLDS in a tiny congregation where the adults treated me like a very short colleague. They asked what I thought about God, scripture, and life, and I soaked it up. In my five-year-old mind, I wasn’t attending Sunday school.

I was teaching it.

Children’s ministry felt like home. I loved kids—their honesty, curiosity, and complete inability to pretend they have everything figured out. Looking back, those classrooms shaped me. They taught me to love faith, conversation, and the idea that God was worth talking about.

And I think those adults encouraged me in ministry long before I had language for ministry. They slowed it down. They humbled their grown-up brains. They let a child “teach” the lesson, even though I’m sure they were quietly shaping the conversation the whole time to bless us and praise God.

That kind of adult is holy ground.

Not every lesson was healthy, though.

One sermon planted a spectacularly bad seed in my perfectionist brain. Think scales of justice. Think divine wrath. Think names being stricken from the Book of Life. Think perfectionism meeting gasoline and a match.

The message, as my childhood brain heard it, was simple:

If your good deeds don’t outweigh your bad ones by the end of your life, it’s no bueno.

Was there more nuance?

Probably.

Did little-me hear any of it?

Absolutely not.

So no, I’m not going back to a faith built on scorekeeping. I can honor the people who helped form me without returning to the fear that harmed me.

The funny thing is that while I could picture myself teaching Sunday school, I couldn’t picture anyone hiring me for an actual job. Somewhere along the way, I decided my value depended on figuring out my vocation.

But ministry felt different.

I never doubted I belonged in a classroom full of kids. Not because I was gifted beyond my years—I was five, let’s be reasonable—but because it felt natural. Familiar. Like something God had written into me before I had words for it.

Years later, I finally considered the possibility of getting a job.

It only took forty-eight years.

My favorite role has always been being a stay-at-home mom. My daughters are one of the greatest gifts of my life, and raising them is something I wouldn’t trade for any career, paycheck, or tropical vacation.

While they were growing up, I spent decades serving in children’s ministry. Nurseries, Sunday school rooms, VBS stations, youth groups, mission trips—if kids were involved, I was probably nearby.

I never thought of it as a career.

The joy was enough.

Then one day a pastor told me he was blessed to be in ministry with me.

Ministry?

Me?

The comment stopped me cold.

For the first time, Sunday school teacher felt less like something I volunteered to do and more like something I had been called to do. Maybe I didn’t need a title. Maybe I just needed someone to recognize what God had already been doing all along.

Which brings me to my spirit baby.

And no, I don’t mean a floating pre-existent soul sending heavenly text messages.

I mean the occasional child who walks into your life and immediately catches your attention in a way you can’t explain.

Scripture is full of this. Mordecai saw something in Esther before she saw it herself. Jesus looked at Simon and saw Peter. Paul called Timothy his true child in the faith. Sometimes God lets us glimpse a tiny piece of what He’s building in another person—not the whole story, just enough to pay attention.

I’ve worked with hundreds, maybe thousands, of children over the years.

Most pass through your life for a season.

A few stay.

And every now and then, there is one.

One who makes you stop and think:

Oh.

There you are, Spirit Baby.

Now, before I embarrass this young lady any further, I should probably tell you that she does not agree with my assessment of her future.

For example, I think President of the United States is a perfectly reasonable career goal.

She thinks that’s aiming a little high.

Which is funny, because from where I’m sitting, it sounds a little low.

To be fair, she currently has much more modest aspirations.

Something humble.

Something understated.

Like attending an Ivy League school.

You know.

Regular teenager stuff.

The thing is, she’s already being nominated for opportunities that place her on a national debate stage, so I’m not entirely convinced she appreciates how ridiculous she is.

What I love, though, isn’t her résumé.

I’ve met smart kids before.

I’ve met talented kids before.

I’ve met driven kids before.

Those things are wonderful, but they aren’t what caught my attention.

What caught my attention was her heart.

I have a tremendous amount of respect for a teenager who thinks learning about Jesus is more important than an air-conditioned car ride.

The first time I learned she was walking to church, something in me smiled.

Partly because I admire conviction.

Partly because I was immediately ready to offer her a ride.

And partly because I wasn’t entirely sure she would take it.

She shows a softer side with me sometimes, but don’t get it twisted.

This kid has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen, and that goes hand in hand with a pretty large spirit and brain.

Teenage boys don’t stand a chance.

She’s independent.

Athletic.

Capable.

The kind of kid who would politely explain that she only lives a mile away and walking is perfectly fine, thank you very much.

And she’s probably right.

One of my favorite stories about her happened after an Easter egg hunt. One of the girls found an egg that had been missed from the year before. Inside was five dollars.

The girls immediately ran the money inside and put the entire thing in the offering bucket.

Later I texted her and joked, “If you’re going into ministry, you might consider keeping $2.50. Pastors don’t exactly get rich.”

She responded, “If there’s something I need, my dad will pay for it.”

I remember getting goosebumps.

Because she had no idea what she had just said.

She was talking about her earthly father.

I was thinking about another One.

And in that moment I realized something beautiful.

I’ve spent years learning about grace.

This girl had already started living from it.

That’s one of the reasons I call her my spirit baby.

Not because she’s mine.

She isn’t.

Not because she’s perfect.

She isn’t.

And not because I know exactly what God has planned for her.

I don’t.

I just think sometimes God lets us glimpse a little piece of what He’s building in another person.

And when He does, it’s hard not to pay attention.

So if one day you hear her name attached to an Ivy League school, a national stage, a church, a ministry, a courtroom, a debate hall, or even the White House, don’t act surprised.

I won’t be.

I’ve been watching this story for a while now.