Sunday,, my daughter got baptized.
Not because she was told to.
Not because she hit the “age of accountability.”
And certainly not because it checked a religious box.
She got baptized because she knows her Savior —
and she’s known Him for years.
I need to say something, especially for those who’ve followed our story:
My daughter didn’t meet Jesus in a church building.
She met Him in the silence.
In the abuse and trauma she endured.
In the rooms she was locked in.
In the seizures no one treated.
In the nights she went to sleep alone on a bare concrete floor.
She didn’t learn God from a picture book or a children’s devotional.
She lived Him.
She talked to Him.
She clung to him because of the peace she felt in the middle of her chaos.
There was one day she was giggling, having a full conversation with no one in the room.
My boyfriend asked her who she was talking to.
“My friend,” she said. He asked her what her friends name was, and she said, “His name is Jesus.”
“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”
— John 10:27
But here’s the hard truth:
She wasn’t raised in some soft little Sunday school world.
She was severely indoctrinated, not discipled.
They taught her prophet names and fear, but never thought to teach her love.
They taught her that her role was to serve a man. To obey. To stay quiet because her voice meant nothing.
They didn’t teach her about Jesus — they taught her chains.
But, She held onto the Jesus she knew. The one who comforted her in isolation. The one who told her she was more than enough just as she was. The one who laughed with her when no one else did.
Her faith didn’t survive in spite of what they taught.
It deepened because of who walked through her storm with her.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18
And I want the whole world to know:
She is developmentally delayed.
She doesn’t process sermons or theology the way others might.
She didn’t memorize scripture to get here.
But she has more tangible, real, unshakable faith than most grown adults I know.
She told me, after one of her hospital visits, that we were driving home and I was holding back my tears as best I could, thinking about all the abuse and delays she should never have endured. She grabbed my hand and said:
“Don’t worry, Mama. Jesus is going to heal my brain. Nobody will be broken or cry . He’s going to make us happy again.”
She taught me that day to have hope in our Redeemer.
That’s the faith of a child.
That’s the Kingdom of Heaven — right there in her little body shining so boldly.
“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
— Matthew 18:3
She was never lost.
She was always His.
And He holds her tightly.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
— 2 Corinthians 5:17
And now — here we are.
After all the trauma. After all the silence. After all the moments where she was overlooked, misunderstood, and underestimated… she’s beginning to heal
A few days ago, my daughter chose baptism.
Not because someone told her to.
Not because she was afraid not to.
But because she wanted to say yes to the One who’s been with her all along.
She understood what she was doing in her way, in God’s timing — not man’s. She made this choice with a smile on her face, peace in her heart, and joy that lit up the room.
And me?
I’m just the momma standing on the edge of the water —
in absolute awe of the amazing little girl who never let go of her faith,
even when her world tried to bury it.
I am so proud of her.
Not just for getting baptized —
but for knowing, loving, and choosing her Savior with a depth and courage that humbles me.
This wasn’t the beginning of her faith.
It was her public declaration of the faith she’s held all along.
And heaven didn’t just witness it —
it celebrated.
“For the Lord takes delight in His people; He crowns the humble with victory.” — Psalm 149:4
If my words spoke to your heart, you can help support our journey:
Letters From the Edge 