One thing my daughter Charlotte loves deeply is sunsets. Where we live, there’s a high hill that overlooks the horizon, and the sunsets there are breathtaking. Almost every evening, she asks me to take a picture of the sunset for her. One day, I was rushing, busy, stressed, with a long to-do list weighing on me—and once again, she called out, “Mom, can you take a picture of the sunset for me?”
In that moment, something inside me paused. I could have said no, could have kept going with my plans. But instead, I stopped. I turned toward the sky and captured the sunset just for her. When I showed her the picture, her face lit up with the biggest smile, and right then, I realized: by choosing her, even in something so small, I was planting seeds of love. That moment wasn’t just about a sunset—it was about a connection being restored.
Charlotte is soon to turn 13. About two years ago, I began to notice changes in her—her heart pulling away, her spirit growing distant, her choices becoming rebellious in ways that broke me as a mother. I watched helplessly as she turned from the values I had hoped to nurture in her. Every attempt to guide her seemed to widen the gap, and I felt like I was standing at the edge of a chasm I couldn’t cross.
But through this situation, I began to realize something profound: it wasn’t just her who needed to change—it was me. I saw that if I wanted to reach her heart, I couldn’t meet her rebellion with control, or her defiance with frustration. I had to lay down my pride, quiet my spirit, and meet her with gentleness. I had to learn to listen, to greet her with warmth, to smile even when I felt weary or rejected. I had to become love.
Slowly, I’ve begun to see glimmers of hope. Even recently, she allowed me to talk together about the Bible—a small moment, but to me, a miracle. Practicing the Words of Mother's love with my daughter is a gift—one I don’t take for granted.
I am so thankful for this situation, even in its pain. It reminds me of David’s heartache over his son Absalom in the Bible—how David longed for his son even as Absalom rebelled, how he wept over him despite everything. David cried out, “O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! If only I had died instead of you!” (2 Samuel 18:33). I see now that this is a glimpse of Mother’s own heart—who ache for Their lost, rebellious children, yet continue to pursue them with relentless love.
This situation is shaping me. It’s teaching me a love that doesn’t give up, a love that waits patiently, that hopes in what can’t yet be seen. Though the road is painful, I believe beauty is growing from it. I will continue to love Charlotte with all that I am, trusting that through practicing this 'Words of Mother's Love', a way will be opened for her to return to Home. And in the process, I too am being transformed, drawn deeper into the very heart of Love.
Just like the sunsets Charlotte treasures—brilliant, fleeting, and full of quiet wonder—these moments remind me that even when light seems to fade, it is never truly gone. It’s simply preparing to rise again. Every day, as the sun sets and a new day begins, I’m reminded that I have another chance to reflect Mother’s heart—to put into practice Her words, Her patience, and Her actions of love. Her words remind me that love is not passive—it is active, enduring, and full of hope.