When I was four years old, I had a red pair of play glasses. I would put them on and declare that I could read any book. I couldn’t actually read a word, of course, but that never stopped me. I told stories for hours, believing those little glasses carried some kind of power. In truth, the glasses had nothing to do with it. The charm of it lay in the freedom of a child who had not yet learned to be embarrassed by her gift.
But because I was being raised in a world that felt traditional, measured, and reserved, that kind of bold imaginative expression seemed a little too much. I remember being teased about those red glasses, and in my child-heart I translated it as rejection. I threw the glasses away and pulled in the reigns to my free spirit. I morphed into someone more mainstream. I silenced what was wild and bright and God-breathed in me.
And yet God.
I had a dream a few years ago that has never left me. I was walking alone, and instead of staying on the main road, I veered off to wander where I pleased. Just beyond a stone wall was a large open field. Then suddenly, there it was—an open grave. Inside were the full remains of a dead man. I gasped and asked Jesus, “Who is this?”
He answered, “He’s my child.”
I said, “It’s too late for him, isn’t it?”
And then He said, “Wait. What am I teaching you? What are you to do when you enter a place full of dead men’s bones?”
I answered, “Speak the Gospel to the bones and let You breathe over them.”
“Right,” He said.
I have never forgotten that. Daughters of Promise is the field God carved out for me. It’s the place where I speak to bones:
~ To women who are technically alive but feel dead inside.
~ To women who have been functioning, serving, smiling, enduring, while something essential has gone silent beneath the surface.
~ To women who buried their red glasses years ago and have almost forgotten the sound of their own God-given voice.
What are your red glasses? Where have you traded your gifting for acceptability? Where have you surrendered your authentic self in exchange for belonging, approval, or safety? Where did you begin editing what God wrote, toning down what He made vivid, burying what He called good?
God is not intimidated by the distance between who you are now and who He created you to be. He knows exactly where that girl is buried. He knows how to call her forth. He knows how to reveal, validate, and strengthen the daughter He imagined before the foundation of the world. He is not asking you to become someone else. He is asking you to simply come alive.
Lord, help me stand up straight and let you rebuild what fear dismantled. Amen
Daughters of promise 