זאת הבת שלי
This is my daughter.
I noticed the black etching under the overlapping bracelets wrapping around her wrist. Another? I asked. What does it mean?
This is my daughter in Hebrew.
A reminder of who I belong to.
She went on to explain.
“He sits here and watches us with delight. He delights in us. He’s constantly telling, ‘that’s my girl’ cause we are His,” she told me in her young adult way.
And how could I question her decision to place this reminder on her wrist? One she will look to everytime she questions her identity. Her worth. Her purpose. Her belonging.
And, “I will be a Father to you, and you will be my sons and daughters,
says the Lord Almighty.”
2 Corinthians 6:18
To be 19 years old and know with such conviction. Such confidence. That she is a daughter of the King of heaven and earth. That she is loved, not just to the moon and back by her mom and dad, but by her heavenly Father who created her and knew her before time began. That she is His girl.
Oh how I wish I had that conviction and confidence! Even now. I question who I am. I question just how much I mean to my heavenly Father. I get caught in the web of doing everything I possibly can to be perfect. And when I fall short, as I always do, I default to my own self-prescribed definition of what daughter means. My own definition of myself. Failure. Broken. Unworthy. Even in the smallest mistakes. I trade “that’s my girl” for the lie of “only when I am perfect and clean and ok can I be His girl.”
זאת הבת שלי
This is my daughter.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love;
I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.”
Jeremiah 31:3
Like a broken record, I must remind myself that I am His girl. I am His daughter.
THIS is my daughter, He says. He has loved me with an everlasting one. One that never ends but goes on from eternity to eternity.
I hold her explanation close. Repeating it again and again to make a memory in my brain. So when I forget whose I am and what I am worth and where my identity lies. I remember. I am HIS girl.
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