I was reading the “Coffee With Jesus” comic strips this morning, and was loving Jesus’ interaction with the various people. It caused me to ask God, “What do you call me?” The word “daughter” popped up immediately, and was a punch to the gut.
At the moment, I am processing a difficult childhood. My parents aren’t too happy with the conclusions that I’m coming to about it. I asked for space, but I’ve gotten more than that, as usual when talking with them about things where they have wronged me, I’m met with silence. It has always been this way.
When I was growing up, my Dad treated me like a daughter, and my Mom did in some regards. However, as I grew older, Dad became more involved with work. When I turned 13, my Mom went “Nazi” on me about every little thing she didn’t like. To make a long story short, I was abused physically, emotionally, and mentally by my Mom. My Dad wasn’t there to see it.
I look at my children and see how much more love they receive from us than I received. They are given positive affirmation, direction and grounding when they need discipline, and they are hugged daily. As a result, they are social, happy, and strong in who they are as individuals.
On the other end of the spectrum, I’ve struggled with understanding social norms, as my Mom doesn’t adhere to them at all. I’m a fairly happy person for the most part, but I deal with some anger issues that arise strongly in times of pressure. Until recently, I struggled with my identity, and in some ways I still am lingering over the idea of it.
So, when God showed me “Daughter”, it was the most perfect thing for me, especially at the moment. In the natural, I’m loved by my parents in their own way, but not cherished like a daughter should be. With God as my Father, I am cherished. I am wanted. I am loved. I am disciplined appropriately. My repentance isn’t questioned. My mistakes aren’t held over me. He is a perfect Father. I am His daughter.