He Whispers :: Dear Daughter


Whispers in the night, I hear them beyond my thoughts, begging me to get up, and listen. Dear daughter, it repeats and resonates, over and over, my thoughts, and then the whispers. I try to ignore them, but then the daughter kicks me in the head. Still I turn, wanting sleep to suck me back under. But then, my husband starts to snore. Only the first one was four beats, and for all the world it sounded like “Get up, and write.” Then the next three snores, just one beat each. “Go. Goooo. NOW!”

Okay, I agreed. But still I waited, fascinated by these audible noises, did the Lord just speak to me through the sound of snoring? I listened in awe and wonder, and the snores ebbed away. From silent to snoring, and back to silence in the course of a minute or less. The awe and wonder is no longer in my room, it’s in my living room, where the Lord and my computer wait for me expectantly.


Dear Daughter  (A Mother to Her Girl)


Dear Daughter,
Sweet girl of mine, with wonders and dreams,
struggles and accomplishments not yet realized.
I hear you breathing
in your sleep.
I feel your hand, reaching up to my cheek,
making sure that I’m there.
And I am,
because every night, you come to me.
You crawl onto the tiniest edge of my bed and tuck your body up close to mine.
Your head, in the crook of my arm, below my chin.
It’s so much a part of our rhythm, that sometimes,
I don’t hear you come in.
I don’t immediately feel the difference,
but subconsciously, I know you are there,
I give you a small squeeze,
I kiss your forehead.
I wake up in the morning,
surprised, and yet not.
Crowded, and yet, at home.


For daughter, I look at you,
your sweet body
made so much in my image,
and my breath catches in wonder.
I’m in awe of your sweet life,
the presence of your giggles in our home.
The way your princess dresses and fascination with pink
has softened the monster truck, dinosaur, and football noises in our home.
I look at you, and see so much of me.
my nose, my cheeks, my pouty and expressive lips, the look.


I remember, sweet girl, the way you came to me
when I got home yesterday.
Having gotten sick while I was gone,
you waited, you napped, you watched TV, you asked for me.
When I arrived, you ran into my arms.
I sat on the couch,
and I held you.
You nuzzled into my chest, hair tickling my chin,
and I breathed it all in.
I’m sick, I love you, I needed you, you said.
My heart swelled, my mouth kissed your head.
Stomach bug or not, I had to kiss you no less than 100 times.


For daughter, I look at you,
your sweet body
made so much in my image,
and my eyes swell with tears in wonder.
In awe of everything you’ve already accomplished in this short little life,
even if it’s just to have changed me,
to have loved “your boys”,
to have given your daddy a softer side,
all of your presence, is important.
All of these things,
and the ones I don’t yet know to count,
have mattered, matter.
I look at you, and see so much life is left to live,
So much is yet to be conquered,
you have barely started to live,
my sweet beautiful girl, curled up to me,
confident, calm, protected.


I know, sweet girl, that you don’t yet know.
Don’t yet know, the impact you have made in our life,
in life. In our world, in the world.
I know sweet girl, that right now, all you are dreaming about
is dancing with your daddy, going to preschool, and eating candy for breakfast.
That is enough.
I know sweet girl, that life can be a lot,
but I want you to know that the Lord has used you,
my love, in a mighty way, even in those little things.


Dear Daughter, the words, the weight beyond what I’d been thinking, like the wind stirring and blowing the leaves and invisible air outside, the words swirl in my mind, calling to me, whispering, so loudly my husbands snores pull me from my bed, drawing me to the computer, where they must come to fruition.



Dear Daughter (He Whispers)


Dear Daughter,
Dear one of mine, with wonders and dreams,
struggles and accomplishments realized and not yet realized.
I hear you breathing in your sleep.
I felt your heart, last night, seeking me out
making sure that I’m there.
And I am,
because every day you come to me.
In one way or another.
In song, in prayer, in reading, in silence.
It’s so much a part of our rythm, that sometimes,
you don’t hear me come close to you.
you don’t immediately feel the difference,
but subconsciously you know I am there.
I know, because you draw close to me,
you breath me in, and in your heart, I’m at home.


For daughter, I look at you,
made in my image
but I don’t wonder, and awe at who you are and what you have done.
I know.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt,
as I knew when I formed you in your mothers womb.
I know the impact you are making,
I know the purpose you are serving.
I look at you, and see so much of me.
In your heart, in your love,
and most importantly, in the depths, waiting to be revealed.


I remember, dear one, the way you came to me
at the conference yesterday.
Seeking, eager, gleaning all that you could.
Praying, begging, wondering.
Often without words, but I heard what couldn’t be articulated.
I’m sick, I love you, I need you, you said.
My heart swelled.


I know, dear one, that you don’t yet know.
Don’t yet know, the impact you have made in our life,
in life. In our world, in the world.
I know dear one, all that you are dreaming about
and that you are seeking Me, searching for ways to make an impact.
That is enough.
I know dear one, that life can be a lot,
but I want you to know that I have used you,
my love, in a mighty way, even when you haven’t seen it, or known it intrinsically.
I hear you dear one,
wondering, if you have cheated me,
longing to know what you were chosen for.
Stay here, stay close, remain strong and faithful
for daughter, I know what is to come.
Grow, know. Know me, and you will know.


Woah. Good morning world. I. Um. Well, that’s interesting. I’ve been up for about two hours now (3 after editing and getting the men in the house off to church), typing all of that (imagine that last word swirling around in a sweeping circle). I have left it in a pretty pure form, editing for spelling and some line breaks, but by and large left the words that appeared there untouched, trusting them the way they were originally written. Trusting the process, the whispers I heard in middle of the night (well 6:00 feels that way when you stay up past midnight). I’m going to be honest, a huge part of me wants to delete two thirds of the second poem, but I’m reisisting. Maybe I’ll visit it again in a few days and tweak then. I don’t want to over pare it down because of my insecurities and miss something the Lord might be trying to say to me, or to you. . . . . . Ah. Okay. Moving on.

Image Source

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of attending a viewing of the Priscilla Shirer Simulcast #PSLive17. I loved it. I love her. She has this way of punching you in the gut in such a way that when you come up gasping for air, it’s for the Word of God alone, drawing you as near to Him as possible. And her prayers? I can feel the devil shake when she prays. It’s so inspiring. Anyway, there was so much I felt stirring in me throughout the day, and after. I’m also going through her study Breathe Making Room for Sabbath, and the two topics weaved together seamlessly making it all even more…Convicting? Freeing?

One of the main points is reflected in the image to the left, not cheated but chosen. But I honestly  didn’t realize how I was feeling about the word cheated until this poem. That for me, instead of feeling like my situation has in some way cheated me, my heart worries so much, that in my season of raising my kids and constantly walking away from my dreams getting sidetracked by life and laziness that I’m cheating God. It’s sort of neat to see that there, in my writing, though I couldn’t put words to what I was feeling last night when I was talking to my husband.
And, well you saw, how my morning just unfolded. Whispers on Writeria Lane, indeed.

But now that I see it, now, that there is voice to it, I’ll wait and see how the Lord works it out in my heart.

Image Source


So, tell me friends, what is the Lord whispering to you this morning? 

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2 Comments on "He Whispers :: Dear Daughter"

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Sonia Dotson
Sonia Dotson

A gift dear sister A GIFT! I am glad that you left the poem untouched. No more refinement necessary. It is perfect. Mind you I know nothing but what I think, feel and enjoy. Your poem was beautiful. I did sit in awe as I heard you read it. Wow.


About me

Welcome to Writeria Lane, where I write about the things that matter most to me in life; my love for Jesus, my family, and all things fiction. Writing has always been a way for me to process the world and what the Lord is doing within it, when I’m writing I can feel Him whispering to my soul. I hope you will join me on this journey as I hope to seek Him out and share authentically about all the things that inspire me.

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