Teach Your Child to Read
“Teach your child to read,” the Lord said.
It was a task so ordinary I almost missed how sacred it was. A newborn homeschool mother, hungry for structure and unsure where to begin, I brought my questions before the Lord and asked Him for clarity. His answer wasn’t elaborate, just this simple instruction: teach your child to read. It was mundane and humbling, the kind of world-changing work that is unimpressive, at first.
In the ambiguity that followed, I had a sobering realization. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know how I was going to teach a two-year-old a skill that I had put on autopilot. Not to mention, I was worried sick that if I just focused on reading, she would fall behind in other subjects and “suck at math” like her mom. Anxious thoughts waged war against my spirit man. Would I trust God, or would I give in to my own carnal objections?
This moment marked the beginning of God’s intensive demolition of an idol I had carried into my postpartum season: the idol of certainty. I had seen this test before, and I was desperate to pass it. I remembered the words of the late and wise Elisabeth Elliot, "Obedience is our task; the results of that obedience are God's and God's alone.”
I started without a curriculum.
I had a word, an excited toddler, and the will to show up.
I trashed my timelines and ran into my “yes” with full force. This season was marked by storytimes in a little pink rocking chair, library trips that often felt chaotic, rummaging through YouTube for “letter sound songs” to teach, and staying up late to figure out the proper way to pronounce the letter “P” (fyi, it’s not “puh”).
Eventually, God led me to a kind of “manual,” and as the lessons unfolded, He invited me into a patience I didn’t yet possess. In my frustration, He reminded me of the mission: “Teach her to read…so she can read My word.”
Just as He willed, her literacy became a pathway into the knowledge of God. What began as simple reading lessons was maturing into discipleship. Reading lessons were soon led by my eager toddler volunteering to pray, simple catechisms about the character of God, and the unapologetic recitation of scripture. In those moments, God would reveal unique ways to make Biblical concepts tangible for her. Songs and “verse chants” would rise in my spirit to share. “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6), was the first scripture I taught her. Given an upbeat cadence, she carried it into memory at two and a half, leaving me astonished.
Each day, I witnessed fruit buds of obedience. My bond with my child was flourishing—she adored having me as a teacher and even promoted me to “Miss Mommy.” She began reading entire sentences with a flow that testified to faithful consistency. And in the adventure of those daily lessons, I felt the touch of a divine surgeon quietly operating within me. Patience, humility, and wonder, qualities I thought had long dried up in the wells of my soul, found new life. Obedience was teaching me to trust, to stretch, and to delight in the process.
God’s work didn’t stop there. The battle I had first experienced in my mind, those anxious questions and inner resistance, had pointed toward something far greater than I could see.
Years earlier, after I had my first child, my own mother had casually suggested that I open a daycare in my home, an idea I rejected outright. It felt entirely misaligned with who I believed myself to be. I was a girl boss on a postpartum break. I had major homeschool dreams. A “daycare” was beyond my capacity. Only later did I recognize that God had been revisiting the same idea again and again, patiently circling back while I matured. The little “nudges” I felt turned out to be coordinated invitations from heaven.
As I followed that initial instruction, teaching my child to read, other threads began weaving themselves into the story. Around the same time our reading lessons were set in motion, the Lord prompted me to serve in my church’s children’s ministry. I hesitantly obeyed without any sense of personal ambition or natural inclination, assuming it was temporary. I had no early education background, but in time, I found myself committed to formal training and stepping into leadership, even as I continued the daily, unseen work of teaching my daughter at home. The work became my joy, and passion filled the classroom as I stewarded my little Sunday school. I became captivated by God’s handiwork in young minds. I set out to understand how curiosity forms and how learning is nurtured. Early childhood learning, once daunting, slowly became second nature. I had long known I had a gift for teaching, but 23-year-old me assumed it belonged elsewhere, in business coaching or homeschooling my own kids at most.
But somewhere along the way, God connected the dots for me.
He showed me that teaching a child to recognize letters, follow simple instructions, and persevere through difficulty mirrors the way we teach them to receive truth, submit to guidance, and remain faithful in their walk with Him.
In time, another divine assignment was arising—a lifelong assignment. And when an assignment is lifelong, it becomes your calling. I recognized that the burden had been slowly simmering in my heart without me knowing. “Teach your child to read” soon became “you will be a missionary to children.” My once simple act of obedience in motherhood had been shaping an extended calling: to minister to every child God would send me and to shepherd their hearts and minds with the assurance that my non-glamorous work was eternally significant.
It was through this layering, reading lessons at the kitchen table, service in my local church, repeated nudges I had once dismissed, that clarity finally emerged. The call God revealed was not abrupt; it was formed slowly, through faithfulness in “small” things. What began as obedience to teach my own child to read became the very path through which God unveiled the work I now oversee with children every day.
So, in 2024, I was back where I started, not knowing what I was doing because I once said that I would never open a school of any sort.
“You will be a missionary to children” was my word when I opened the doors to my crowdfunded home pre-school, “Little Arrows.”
“You will be a missionary to children” was my word when I felt inadequate and yearned to catch up to the specialists in my field.
“You will be a missionary to children” was my word when I felt that those children would never fill my spots.
“You will be a missionary to children” was my word when an overflow of children came, little by little.
Soon enough, I had to make a waitlist and pray for a bigger home.
“You will be a missionary to children” was my word when God said to take "Little Arrows” into the highways and the byways, “share what you know online and equip the parents too.”
Today, I’m somewhere in the tension of cleaning up bathroom floors stained by unpleasant toddler messes, teaching Sunday school lessons to jittery 4-year-olds, and empowering parents to raise up their own little arrows. The ministry God entrusted to me often looks ordinary, even menial by the world’s standards, much like the everyday, unseen tasks we are tempted to believe are beneath us. Did I not say that this is the kind of world-changing work that is unimpressive, at first?
In those moments, I can almost hear the gentle assurance of the Lord, “I have you exactly where I intended all along.” He never wanted my qualifications or my plans. He wanted my faithfulness.
Just as the Lord sanctifies the simple into the holy, He can take our simple acts of faith and build them into something that transforms generations. What begins as teaching a child to read, done faithfully, becomes a conduit for discipleship and a ministry whose impact knows no end. In obedience, the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and in our willingness to show up, God does immeasurably more than we can imagine.
