The Night My Daughter Changed How I Saw God

There’s a section of devotions in Soul Weathered centered around fatherhood.

Not because I figured it out perfectly.

But because raising my daughters taught me more about the heart of God than almost anything else in my life.

When my wife and I first started raising children, we had a very clear idea of the kind of parents we were going to be.

Or at least we thought we did.

A lot of our thinking came from teachings on “tough love”—raising children with firmness, structure, consistency, and discipline.

And to be clear, I still believe children need boundaries, guidance, and direction.

But what I didn’t understand then was how much tenderness and sacrificial presence are also required to raise a child well.

Especially a child’s heart.

We had tried for seven years to have our first daughter.

When she was finally born, we called her our miracle child.

And almost immediately… she developed severe colic.

Anyone who has experienced that understands what it means.

Long nights. Exhaustion. Hours of crying. Feeling helpless.

I remember nights where the only thing that would soothe her was laying her across my knees while I gently patted her back for hours.

Nothing else worked.

And if I’m honest, there were moments I became frustrated.

Tired. Worn down.

Maybe even quietly blaming this tiny little girl for keeping us awake night after night.

But what she needed wasn’t toughness.

She needed tenderness.

She needed presence.

Later, another struggle emerged.

Bedtime.

She did not want to sleep alone.

Every night became a battle.

I would go lay beside her for a few minutes, but I always had a limit in my mind.

I had things to do. I wanted my evening back. I needed time.

So I would eventually leave, and before long she would come walking back into our room crying and afraid.

And every night we fought the same battle.

We kept trying to apply our version of “tough love.”

Stay in the bed. Go to sleep. You’re fine.

But nothing changed.

At the time, I was already in ministry, and I remember talking to a pastor friend about it during one of our regular meetings.

I explained the whole situation to him.

And then he asked me a question I’ve never forgotten.

“Mark… what do you think God would do with Madison?”

I immediately knew the answer.

He asked me another question.

“What does she actually want?”

And I answered honestly.

“She wants me to stay with her until she falls asleep.”

Then he asked something that pierced straight through me:

“What would it really cost you to stay?”

And in that moment, I realized something.

God is never rushed with us.

He is patient. Tender. Present.

He is not constantly trying to get away from us because we are inconvenient.

And suddenly, I saw my daughter differently.

I saw her heart.

So I made a change.

Instead of laying with her for a few minutes and leaving, I told her:

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

And that simple decision changed everything.

The fight disappeared.

The anxiety disappeared.

She would relax against me peacefully because she no longer feared I was about to leave.

She rested because she trusted my presence.

And honestly, something changed in me too.

Because in that moment, I began to understand something deeper about the Father heart of God.

Love sacrifices.

Love stays.

Love gives itself.

God has all the patience in the world with us.

All the compassion. All the grace. All the time required to love us well.

Even when we are restless. Even when we are afraid. Even when we need reassurance again and again.

That season changed the way I parented my daughters.

But even more than that—

It changed the way I understood God.

Because I realized something:

So much of parenting is not about controlling behavior.

It’s about creating security through love.

And honestly, that’s still how I try to love my daughters today.

Not perfectly.

But patiently. Presently. Sacrificially.

And maybe that’s why I feel so secure in my relationship with God now.

Because somewhere along the way, through the love of a little girl who just wanted her father near…

I began to understand the love of my Father toward me.

Let me ask you this—

Where in your life might God be inviting you to stop managing people…and simply stay present long enough to love them well?