As a Mom Thinketh… So Is She
A Story for Every Mama Trying to Raise Godly Kids Without Losing Their Heart in the Process
There’s something that has been sitting heavy on my heart all night.
You know that verse: “As a man thinketh, so is he.”
I’ve used this verse for years as a guide for my own mindset—how I think, how I show up, how I grow.
I’ve used this verse for years as a guide for my own mindset—how I think, how I show up, how I grow.
But a few years ago, I hit a wall.
Not just a little bump… I was drowning in parenting.
Not just a little bump… I was drowning in parenting.
Because I so deeply wanted to raise a godly child, I slowly drifted into something I never thought I would become:
Legalistic.
Rule-heavy.
Rigid.
Performance-focused.
Rule-heavy.
Rigid.
Performance-focused.
When I looked at my daughter, I stopped seeing the little girl I used to celebrate—the silly, sassy, wildly creative, strong-willed, energetic, precious gift God had given me.
Instead, I started seeing all the ways she wasn’t living up to the “Christian standards” I was teaching her.
Instead, I started seeing all the ways she wasn’t living up to the “Christian standards” I was teaching her.
And in my mind, if I taught it… she should want to do it. Instantly. Correctly. Consistently.
My intentions were pure—my methods were not.
I meant to protect her.
I meant to guide her.
But the way I went about it?
It didn’t feel protective to her. It felt suffocating.
I meant to guide her.
But the way I went about it?
It didn’t feel protective to her. It felt suffocating.
And slowly, almost without noticing, it began to strain our relationship.
I focused on the mistakes.
The misses.
The moments she wasn’t “godly enough.”
And that hyper-focus created something even heavier…
I started believing I was a failure as a mom.
The misses.
The moments she wasn’t “godly enough.”
And that hyper-focus created something even heavier…
I started believing I was a failure as a mom.
The harder I pushed, the harder she rebelled.
She felt criticized, judged, and like my love was conditional.
And I felt like I was losing the very child I was trying so desperately to shepherd.
She felt criticized, judged, and like my love was conditional.
And I felt like I was losing the very child I was trying so desperately to shepherd.
The Turning Point
Then came one particular situation—
A mistake she made that was pretty big.
And I had a choice.
A mistake she made that was pretty big.
And I had a choice.
I could yell.
I could shame.
I could demand confession and force repentance.
I could shame.
I could demand confession and force repentance.
Or…
I could choose to be like Jesus.
I could love her in her hurt.
I could use God’s Word to teach, correct, and guide—
without crushing her spirit.
I could use God’s Word to teach, correct, and guide—
without crushing her spirit.
I could wait for God to convict her heart instead of trying to control the process myself.
I could give her the same grace and forgiveness that Jesus gives me—daily.
I could give her the same grace and forgiveness that Jesus gives me—daily.
Because in that moment, I didn’t love her any less.
So I chose grace.
And I chose patience.
I let her come to me with the truth in her own time.
And it took a while.
But when it came, it wasn’t forced.
It was holy.
It was real.
And I chose patience.
I let her come to me with the truth in her own time.
And it took a while.
But when it came, it wasn’t forced.
It was holy.
It was real.
She had to walk out her own sanctification—not just my expectations.
She had to learn why God’s boundaries matter… Not because they control us, but because they protect us. Because they keep us close to Him.
What God Showed Me
I was focusing on the wrong things.
I was so afraid she’d make the same mistakes I made that all I could see were the cracks… not the masterpiece God was forming.
I forgot that before she is mine—
she is God’s.
she is God’s.
He knit her together.
He fearfully and wonderfully designed her.
He set her apart with a plan and purpose.
Her faith journey is hers. Not a copy of mine.
He fearfully and wonderfully designed her.
He set her apart with a plan and purpose.
Her faith journey is hers. Not a copy of mine.
My role isn’t to be her Pharisee—it’s to be her shepherd.
To guide her.
To correct her with love.
To build guardrails,
but also give room for God to do the work in her heart.
To correct her with love.
To build guardrails,
but also give room for God to do the work in her heart.
And every time… she grows a little more.
Every time… she understands a little deeper.
Every time… it becomes less about rule-following and more about relationship.
Every time… she understands a little deeper.
Every time… it becomes less about rule-following and more about relationship.
One thing I’ve learned?
When she gives me the hardest time is usually when she needs me the most.
She needs safety, not shame.
Presence, not perfection.
Space to express… before instruction to correct.
When she gives me the hardest time is usually when she needs me the most.
She needs safety, not shame.
Presence, not perfection.
Space to express… before instruction to correct.
If I'm Not a Perfect Parent… How Can I Expect a Perfect Child?
I’m not flawless.
I mess up.
I get frustrated.
I have days my husband has to remind me,
“Speak life over her. Call out what’s good.”
I mess up.
I get frustrated.
I have days my husband has to remind me,
“Speak life over her. Call out what’s good.”
Because the truth is this:
Whatever I think about her is what I speak to her.
And whatever I speak to her becomes what she thinks about herself.
And whatever I speak to her becomes what she thinks about herself.
So I’m learning—slowly—to call out:
Her growth.
Her beauty.
Her strength.
Her creativity.
Her effort.
Her faith.
Her beauty.
Her strength.
Her creativity.
Her effort.
Her faith.
Not just her failures.
No more aiming for perfection.
If David and Paul could fail—big—then my daughter and I are certainly not the exceptions.
Failure isn't a destination—it’s a teacher.
And shame isn’t the voice of God.
If David and Paul could fail—big—then my daughter and I are certainly not the exceptions.
Failure isn't a destination—it’s a teacher.
And shame isn’t the voice of God.
Here’s What I Want My Daughter to Know
There is nothing she could ever do that will make me stop loving her.
I may correct her.
I may disagree with her choices.
I may not condone certain behaviors.
I may even rebuke her when needed.
I may disagree with her choices.
I may not condone certain behaviors.
I may even rebuke her when needed.
But my love is never withdrawn.
Because love doesn’t equal acceptance of sin—
it equals safety in spite of it.
Because love doesn’t equal acceptance of sin—
it equals safety in spite of it.
And more importantly…
There is a Savior who loves her more than I ever could.
One who wants to see her faith grow strong.
One who celebrates each test of her faith that brings her closer to Him.
One who wants to see her faith grow strong.
One who celebrates each test of her faith that brings her closer to Him.
I want her to think on things that are holy, good, beautiful, and righteous.
But I also have to ask myself:
But I also have to ask myself:
Am I giving her thoughts that lead her toward that truth?
Or toward pressure, comparison, and feeling “never enough”?
Or toward pressure, comparison, and feeling “never enough”?
Parenting is sanctifying.
It exposes us, refines us, humbles us.
Yet in it all, God is teaching me to shepherd her heart toward home—
not just our earthly home…
but her everlasting one.
It exposes us, refines us, humbles us.
Yet in it all, God is teaching me to shepherd her heart toward home—
not just our earthly home…
but her everlasting one.
At the end of the day, motherhood isn’t about producing perfect children—it’s about pointing imperfect hearts (including our own) back to a perfect God. And every moment of frustration, every boundary, every hard conversation is simply another invitation for grace to do what rules never can: transform from the inside out.
If she can see Jesus in the way I parent her, then everything I’ve walked through—every mistake, every learning curve—was worth it.
I don’t have all the answers, and I still get it wrong some days. But I’m learning that grace changes more than pressure ever will. And as I lean into that, I get a front-row seat to watching God shape my daughter into the woman He created her to be.
And honestly?
There is no greater honor than that.
There is no greater honor than that.
From one mom in the trenches to another,
Jeana
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