This Is My Daughter

Isn't it strange how a word you've heard a thousand times can suddenly seem to take on new meaning? When Mom first came to live with us she was having obvious issues remembering. As time progressed, her cognitive skills became less acute, more muddled, like slogging through oatmeal some days and like breaking concrete on others -- difficult until you get to the hard part. Months ago, we attended a ladies fellowship, a gathering of Jesus-loving women with whom I had been doing a Bible study. Mom had never laid eyes on any of them, but when one of the ladies approached to speak to her, she attempted to introduce me! I've grown used to this over the years, but oftentimes, the person will turn and give me a confused, "how-do-I-respond?" sort of look. "This is my daughter," Mom attempted to say, and that's when it happened. That was the second time that day the word had come to me: daughter. 

I used to hate when Mom introduced me as her daughter. Our relationship was always complicated, and I was never sure what she thought when she said the word. There was never any of that relational, teach-me-how-to-be-a-woman kind of stuff between us. She never even spoke to me about marriage, or how to make a pot roast, or sex, except that I shouldn't do it. I'm not assigning blame, it just was what it was. We fumbled our way through years of coexistence. Perhaps I was uncomfortable because I wasn't really sure what being a daughter was supposed to mean.

The first time that day the word popped into my head, it was completely out of nowhere, or so I tend to think until God shows me otherwise. I was going about doing what I do when it dawned on me that I am God's daughter. That may not seem so groundbreaking to you, but as I said, a word you've heard a thousand times can suddenly seem to take on new meaning. His daughter. Not some representative title or honorary vestige, but real adoption. Predestined, chosen before the world was even formed, an heir, by the name and work of Jesus Christ (there is no name higher), and because it pleased God. If He and I were to go out in public, He might turn to someone and say, "This is My daughter." And suddenly, that word had an entirely different ring to it. Suddenly I knew what being a daughter was supposed to mean. Suddenly I knew what being a daughter was supposed to feel like. Suddenly it was the sweetest sounding word to my ears. Daughter. 

Sitting at lunch that day, when Mom used the word, to my ears it sounded exactly the same to me as it had for years. But to my heart, it sounded like so much more. It was the name given to me by my Father. I am not just a daughter, I am His.