When Brent and I found out we were having a daughter in June 2013, I’ll admit I was more than mildly terrified. We learned we were pregnant a little over a year after my fifth cancer diagnosis. Until then becoming a mom was something I had entertained when we got married but promptly dismissed when forced to consider my medical history and the time I estimated I had left on the planet. We didn’t exactly catch it early, the cancer, but at the time my surgeon did give me a 90 percent chance of survival for ten years. Ten years, I remember thinking. Seriously? I’m twenty-six years old.

So when we found out there was a baby inside me, the whole thing seemed surreal. For sure, my pregnancy was a straight-up miracle, and I was incredibly happy to learn that I would bring a child into this world. When the ultrasound tech told us she thought we were having a girl though, my joy was tempered as I thought about my ability to effectively raise that girl in this world. I remember lying flat on my back in the dimly lit exam room, my growing belly exposed and jellied up, thinking. I thought, Oh, no, Doctor. Are you sure it’s not a boy? I cried a little.

I left that appointment hallucinating future eye rolls and shouting matches with the daughter whose face I hadn’t even seen yet. I saw pictures, clear as day, the back of her faceless head buried in her bed pillows and me standing in the doorway of her imaginary bedroom, equally confused about how exactly I was going to help. I envisioned car rides of silent treatments and muffled screams behind freshly slammed doors. How long would it take, I wondered, before what I perceived as my inability to parent sent her down a similar path to the one I walked?

I mean did I have any reason to think differently? I lived my younger years insecure, afraid, focused on all the wrong things, and hopelessly averted to opening up and letting anybody in on the truth, least of all my own mother.

I spent a lot of those pre-baby months thinking about the days ahead: what being her mother actually meant and the approach I was going to take toward her growth and development. In that early season, I found comfort and assurance in the following verse.

Cry out for insight,

and ask for understanding.

Search for them as you would for silver;

seek them like hidden treasures.

Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord,

and you will gain knowledge of God.

For the Lord grants wisdom!

From his mouth come knowledge and understanding.

Proverbs 2: 3-6

Do you ever think like I did? Do you sometimes think that you don’t have what it takes to raise your daughter to live to her full potential?

I want to challenge you, instead, to consider this:

Do you think that if you ask for wisdom and discernment to guide your girl that God won’t give it to you?

One thing I’ve learned during my twisted faith walk and my time as a girl, woman, wife, and mom is that God is beyond faithful. Beyond. Faithful. He will give us what we need to raise our girls well. In many ways, He already has. We just need to look inside, find it, and coax it out of hiding.

The great thing about it is that we can do it together. We can answer this call on our lives with boldness and, dare I say it, enthusiasm! I used to dread thinking about how I was going to be the mother to my little girl. Now I approach the responsibility of teaching that wonderful creature from a place of genuine excitement and trust that God had it totally handled when he picked me for the job.

And He did when He chose you too.

So what do you say, Mama? Let’s get after it! Let’s let our girls see us own this great honor, not only because we are called to it and equipped to do it, but because our girls flat out need us to. They’re counting on us. The threat they face is real, and they need mothers who will teach them how to lift their voices above the roar of culture.

They need mothers who will teach them how to make a different kind of noise.