Ever heard of what happens to pastors’ daughters? I have. And it freaks me out. The other night I snuck into my daughter’s room and knelt at the side of her bed. Her pigtails poked out as her little face snuggled into a sea of stuffed animals. I smiled. And I prayed. Because I know it’s coming. With big girl height and big girl teeth come big girl desires. As much as I want to threaten every boy who talks to her with the thickest leather-bound German Bible I can find, I know I can’t. That’s how pastors’ daughters go wild.
So what do I do instead? I pray. I pray for the boy who will one day catch her eye. I pray he knows God. The God who gives. The God who forgives. The God who died so he could live. And I pray for his parents. I pray they show him what happens when Jesus is at the center, when a guy leads by asking, “How can I help?” I pray, and then I go to hold the hand of the woman who worships with me every day. I think of the psalmist’s words, “How good and pleasant it is when God’s people [including husbands and wives] live together in unity!” (Psalm 133:1).
Could you start praying today? For your son or daughter? Your niece or your nephew? The little kids you give high fives to at church? Maybe you can help lead them to the only place that truly is happily ever after—the presence of God.