Earlier this morning, sometime after 3 a.m., my daughter cried out. There was a bidet spray making whoosh sounds, and apparently, sleep decided to pack its bags and leave the building. I sorted that out, prayed with her, encouraged her to settle down, and left her to sleep.
One hour later…
“Mummy!”
Crying. Again.
In her little mind, she was trying to understand why she couldn’t sleep. She was praying and asking God to help her. She was apologising to me.
And me? I was tired. Very tired.
I had gone to bed late. I love my sleep. There were already a million things happening in my head, and now sleep had been interrupted for something neither of us could control.
But somewhere in that moment, the Holy Spirit helped me. He helped me not to be irritated. Not to rant. Not to say, “Can you PLEASE just sleep?!” Not to make her feel like her inability to sleep was now an inconvenience she needed to apologise for.
Instead, I just stayed.
I prayed.
I opened my Bible.
I encouraged her to pray.
Sometimes she would pray and become quiet, and I would think, Ah! Finally, she has slept. Only to realise… Nope. Still awake. So I prayed some more. And somehow, somewhere between 3 a.m. and 6 a.m., I realised that this wasn’t just a very long night.
It was discipleship.
You see, I have become increasingly conscious that as a disciple of Jesus, I am also called to make disciples. And before I ever make disciples outside my home, little eyes are watching me inside it. My child is one of my first disciples.
That thought changes things.
Because discipleship isn’t only what happens when I sit down with her Bible and teach her a scripture. It isn’t only when we pray together. It isn’t only when I explain why we should be kind, patient, truthful, or loving.
Sometimes discipleship is what happens at 3:47 a.m. when Mummy is exhausted, and the child still isn’t sleeping. Sometimes the lesson isn’t what I say.
It’s how I respond.
Because I could have taught her about the love of Christ that morning… while responding to her in a way that looked nothing like Christ. I could have told her that Jesus is patient while making her feel like a burden because she interrupted my sleep. I could have taught her that God cares about her while communicating, through my irritation, that her discomfort was an inconvenience to me. I could have told her to trust God while showing her that when life becomes inconvenient, Mummy becomes someone else.
And that thought sobered me.
Because children are watching. Not in a creepy, “perform Christianity perfectly” kind of way. They are watching because we are their closest picture of many of the things we are teaching them about God.
And please, let’s be honest. This doesn’t mean we will always respond perfectly. We are human beings. Sometimes we will lose our patience. Sometimes we will apologise to our children. Sometimes we will say, “Mummy shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
That too is discipleship.
Because our children also need to see what repentance looks like. But there are moments when the Holy Spirit gives us the grace to pause before responding. And I know we need to pay attention to those moments, because motherhood is filled with them.
The child who asks the same question for the 17th time. The child who wakes up at the exact moment you finally fall asleep. The child who is struggling with something you think should be simple. The child whose behaviour is testing every last bit of your patience.
These moments can feel like interruptions.
But what if some of them are actually opportunities?
Opportunities to show patience. Opportunities to model self-control. Opportunities to demonstrate forgiveness. Opportunities to choose gentleness. Opportunities to show what it means to put someone else’s needs before our own.
Sometimes the discipleship moment comes disguised as an inconvenience.
And that was what happened to me this morning. I was inconvenienced. But God helped me see beyond the inconvenience. I was already awake. I wasn’t going to magically sleep while she was awake and crying.
So instead of spending those hours being angry about the sleep I was missing, I could spend them with the One who had my attention anyway.
So I prayed.
I read my Bible.
I prayed with my daughter.
I encouraged her.
And somewhere along the way, the night became less about “Why is this happening to me?” and more about “Lord, what do You want to do with this moment?” And perhaps that is one of the things I am learning about discipleship.
Sacrifice and inconvenience are part of the assignment.
Jesus didn’t call us to make disciples only when it was convenient. And Jesus Himself demonstrated self-giving love. The Bible tells us that Christ is at the right hand of God, interceding for us. His work on the cross was once for all, but His care for His people continues. And there I was, in my own tiny corner of motherhood, getting an opportunity to reflect a little of that self-giving love.
Not because I am some supermum. Supermum where na? I was tired. I wanted to sleep. I probably had moments where my flesh was screaming, “God, abeg!” But grace met me. And I think that’s the part I want us mothers to remember.
We don’t disciple our children by being perfect.
We disciple them by continually surrendering ourselves to Christ and allowing Him to shape our responses.
Because our children don’t just need mothers who can quote Scripture. They need mothers whose lives make the Scriptures believable. Mothers who can say, “Jesus is patient,” and then practise patience. Mothers who can say, “Jesus forgives,” and then apologise and forgive. Mothers who can say, “God is gracious,” and then extend grace. Mothers who can say, “Jesus serves,” and then serve when nobody is clapping.
Mothers who can say, “Jesus loves you,” and then let their children experience that love through the way they are treated.
This morning, my daughter may not remember that I was awake from after 3 a.m. until after 6. She may not remember how many times I thought she had finally slept, only to discover she hadn’t. But I hope she remembers something deeper. That when she was afraid and couldn’t understand what was happening, Mummy was there. That she could pray. That she could call on God. That being inconvenienced didn’t make her less loved. That weakness didn’t make her a burden.
That even in the middle of a very interesting night, there was room for God.
And perhaps, years from now, when she encounters her own difficult moments, she won’t just remember the things I taught her about Jesus. She will remember the Jesus she saw reflected in me. Because these children are not only our children. They are also among our first disciples. And before we become too concerned about whether our children are becoming like Jesus, perhaps we should occasionally stop and ask ourselves:
What version of Jesus are they encountering in us?
Especially when we are tired. Especially when we are inconvenienced. Especially when things don’t go our way. Because sometimes, the most powerful sermon our children will ever hear from us…will be the one we preach without saying a word.
And sometimes, that sermon happens at 3 a.m. With a very tired mummy. A very awake child. And a very faithful God.
