When You Forget Who You Are

When my firstborn was just a toddler, we often began our dinnertime routine with a silly game.

“Whose boy are you?” I’d ask my son as we gathered round the table when Daddy got home. 

The answer changed from night to night, but Luke’s irrepressible delight did not. 

Baby blues ablaze, he loved to hold us in suspense as he decided his momentary allegiance.

“I’m Daddy’s boy!” he’d declare, while my husband cheered and I feigned grief. 

But on another night, he’d pucker his lips into a drippy kiss and change his answer. 

“I’m mommy’s boy,” he’d say with a giggle as my rowdy applause drowned out his daddy’s moans. 

One evening while we engaged in the customary charade, God interrupted our juvenile game with a question of His own.

“Whose girl are you?” my Maker whispered to my heart. 

It was a question I hadn’t considered since I’d allowed a pink cross on a pregnancy stick to redefine my life.

After nine months of partnering with God in the making of a miracle, I’d been anxious to be called by my new name. 

Before my firstborn traveled from my womb to my arms, I’d dreamed of the day when my little one would look me in the eye and call me by mommy.

I had no idea just how much of my life would be swallowed up by that name. 

I had no idea that in the days and years to come, I’d lie awake at night, too weary to sleep, and wonder if I’d ever be able to find the me beneath all that mom again.

Maybe that’s why I was silent when God invaded my daily grind and asked me who I was.

As time passed, my baby changed and grew, but my world seemed to be shrinking. 

No one validated my sacrifice as I stumbled from bed in the middle of the night to calm my fitful baby.

No one applauded me for changing a diaper or flattening the mountain of laundry before noon. 

No one hailed my amazing stamina as I read Green Eggs and Ham for the thirteenth time in one day.

I’d worn the name mommy like an Olympic ribbon when my new life as a parent had begun, but somewhere in the midst of toddler tantrums and laundry piles that name began to feel like a noose around my neck.

The name Mommy was no longer a description of who I was, but a constant reminder of who I wasn’t.

The mommy I’d dreamed I would be deserved a cape with a crimson S.

She was an immaculate homemaker, a creative playmate, and a passionate wife. 

But the me in the mirror felt more sapped than super.

The me in the mirror wondered how her soul could feel so empty when her hands were so full.

After our second child was born, my husband and I stood before our church family and humbly proclaimed our desire to dedicate our new daughter to the Lord. 

Our pastor prayed for our little girl, and then my man stepped up to the microphone to sing a song to our newest offspring.

Eyes fixed on the pink bundle in my arms, Rob sang about God’s timeless heart for His children. 

Tears mingled with my mascara as my husband crooned about growing up, yet never outgrowing God’s arms. 

On the outside, I was simply a proud mother moved by her husband’s offering of praise.

But on the inside, I was a grown woman moved by God’s timely reminder.

“Whose girl are you?” my Heavenly Father asked once again as I dug in my purse for a tissue.

I glanced at the delicate gift in my arms and finally offered Him an answer.

“I’m your girl,” my heart responded.

And suddenly, I remembered who I was.

The me under all that mom isn’t just a woman who spends her days scrubbing dishes and bottoms and floors,

She is…

• the righteousness of God in Christ ( 2 Cor.5: 21)
• the temple of the Holy Spirit. (1 Cor. 6: 19)
• the apple of His eye (Zec.2: 8)
• an ambassador for Christ. (2 Cor.5: 20)
• free from condemnation (Romans 8: 1)
• more than a conqueror (Romans 8: 17)
• the salt of the earth (Mathew 5: 13)
• the light of the world (Mathew 5: 14 & Eph. 5: 8)
• A masterpiece. (Eph 2:10)
• complete in Him (Col.2: 1)
• accepted in Him (Eph. 1:6)
• redeemed (Gal. 3: 13)
• treasured (Dt. 7:6)

I may not have a cape with a crimson S, but I’ve got a super hero who has written my name on the palm of His hand.

A savior who has declared my worth with those crimson scars from Calvary.

And when this mama becomes a child again, she can see it clearly from her rightful place on His knee—

And that’s good news for the mommy in the mirror.

Linking up with Rachel as I celebrate my small place on His big lap… one of my favorite things!