I love my daughters so much. I love them more than words. It’s become apart of my DNA, this instinct to nurture, cherish, guide, teach, lead, protect, love, love, love… It’s natural like gravity and the tides. It comes from God.
Some days are really long and hard. Sometimes the last hour and a half before bedtime feels like the last few miles of a marathon. But somehow we make it. And my cup overflows.
Disciplining them is so hard, but we do it. They have to learn that Ristows don’t scream, yell, hit, or kick. It’s an ongoing process. I don’t teach them these things because it’s fun. I teach them because if I don’t do it, no one else will. This is the task given to me.
I’m also in charge of the way they see themselves in the world. As humans. As girls. Someday as women. It all starts now. Their self image. Their self respect. It’s taught in the little things, the little bricks placed on upon another that will one day form a foundation of who they are.
I am fighting a battle with the world. I am fighting for my daughters. I am fighting for the truth about who they are as girls. As daughters. As sisters. As females. AND THEY ARE NOT WHAT THE WORLD SAYS THEY ARE.
They are more. They are beautiful not because of what they wear, but because of the person they are. They are enough not because of what they can do but because God made them. They are lovely not because of what their body looks like, but because of the soul and spirit inside of them that reflects the very goodness of God. Me and their daddy are fighting to preserve the gold, the gems, the diamonds that the world discarded. I pray that they will not trade these things in for the trash the world offers. But most of all, I will pray that they will know the great and vast love of the Lord that heals, renews, preserves, and gives second and third and fourth chances . . .
“You (God) made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so complex! Your workmanship is marvelous and well I know it! You watched me when I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven. You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in Your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed. How precious are Your thoughts towards me, Oh God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t count them. They outnumber the grains of sand! When I awake, You are still with me!” Psalm 139: 13-18