Faith-Based Resources For Raising Daughters In a Faithless Culture

I stood at the counter opening mail when my little girl held up her white tank top and asked, “What is this thing?” pointing to the elastic band. She’s small for her 8 years, but I was surprised her size 6 top had a built-in bra. I explained what it was and she giggled.

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I couldn’t blame her. But I know how fast time flies and I know what’s coming.

I pulled a book from a package and the colorful cover caught her attention. “What’s that?” I was excited to see my friend’s new book, thinking I would put it up for when my daughter was old enough to read it. “It’s a devotional book for tweens,” I said and flipped it over to read the back cover.

“It says ages 8-11. Does that make me a tween?” She asked with pride and excitement.

No. But help me, Lord, it’s getting closer.

We’ve been snuggling up on my bed before bedtime nearly every night since, reading For Girls Like You: A Devotional for Tweens together. Tween or not, it’s something she’s ready to jump into. This is a book she could really read on her own, but I love the few minutes together and the conversation that follows.

The world will educate and influence our girls if we let it. I’d rather teach my daughter about values and self-value.  I’ve shared these resources before, but I continue to get emails asking me for suggested resources for our daughters. Here’s what I’ve got:

Books for Mom and Dad (Body image, modesty, sex, purity, boys):

Books/Magazines for Daughters:

Devotions to have with your Girls (Tween to Teen):

Stylish Clothing Sites with Modest Choices for teens/girls:

Events:

Positive Girl Clubs/Groups:

Music:

  • Britt Nicole
  • Francesca Battistelli
  • Jamie Grace
  • BarlowGirl
  • Mandisa

Websites for our Girls:

Other:

  • A Mighty Girl: collection of books, toys and movies for smart, confident, and courageous girls

What They Don’t Tell You About Raising Kids

I spent five long years trying to become a mother.

And I’ve spent the last fifteen trying to be a good one.

Raising kids is probably the most important thing I will ever do. But I didn’t get educated in a classroom or with a how-to manual; I learned on the job and mostly by making mistakes. When they wheeled me and my new baby girl out of the hospital to join my husband who was pulling up the car, I remember hesitating and looking at the nurse nervously. She patted my back and whispered, “You will do fine.”

For our first hour at home as a family, we sat across the room and stared at her, while she slept in her carseat.

We were terrified she would wake up.

We were terrified she wouldn’t.

That sort of sums up my parenting experience so far–What if they do? What if they don’t? Will they? Should they?

I have second-guessed and been given second chances. I have marveled at all I didn’t know and been amazed at what I learn every day.

They didn’t tell me the sleepless nights of pregnancy were a foreshadowing of the next 18 years.

They didn’t tell me the deep-breathing was for more than birth.

They didn’t tell me about the first set of stitches or the second. Or that I would get woozy every time.

They didn’t tell me that I would want to give my kids everything, but that I mustn’t.

They didn’t tell me how hard it would be to say no, but I must.

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They didn’t tell me I would watch my heart get on a school bus.

They didn’t tell me I would long for school to start as much as I long for it to end.

They didn’t tell me there would be math. Lots of math.

They didn’t tell me about the first time my child would hurt my feelings.

Or how angry I would feel when someone hurt my child’s.

They didn’t tell me how I would ache to fix their problems.

They didn’t tell me I would fall into bed physically exhausted when they were little and emotionally drained when they were older.

They didn’t tell me I would give up something I love, so they could figure out something to love.

They didn’t tell me I would yell.

They didn’t tell me I would laugh until my sides ache.

They didn’t tell me I would cry myself to sleep because of something they said or worse, because of something I said.

They didn’t tell me my son would call me in the middle of school today and ask to go home early because he is grieving his beloved archery coach’s terminal diagnosis.

They didn’t tell me I couldn’t make some things better. Or how badly I would hurt when my children do.

They didn’t tell me how hard some days would be.

They didn’t tell me how fast it would go…

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They didm’ tell me how much I would love being their mom.

They didn’t tell me all these milestone and phases for one reason:

There is joy in discovering motherhood –the beautiful and broken days– for ourselves.

One day at a time.