I stood there in worship with one child on my hip, the other three begging for my attention. Trying to close my eyes and enter into his presence to refresh my soul. I often find myself frustrated on a Sunday morning.
Why did I even go to church? Is this even worth it? Am I gaining anything by coming here while my children act feral in the back of the church? This is every Sunday for me. I lied when I said often, it’s every Sunday that I feel defeated. Exhausted. Hungry for more of Him while tending to my little flock. Trying to get them to be quiet, so that other people can worship. But not me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my worship time with Jesus is while nursing a fussy baby, cooking dinner while Daddy entertains, and late at night when all is quiet and I can hear my own thoughts. With a big glass of red wine. His first miracle is the best one. Amen.
I closed my eyes and was taken into a quick vision of me at Jesus’s feet. I had three hats on my head , and something in my hand that I was holding tight to. I was bowing at his feet, surrendering all of my different talents and roles that I play as a woman.
One by one he took my hat’s off of my head. The first one read WIFE. The second one read MOTHER and the third one read AUTHOR. In that order he placed them on the ground beside my kneeling legs. My hands placed in front of my knees, weeping at his holy feet. Exhausted just from getting four children ready for church. They didn’t look THAT homeless, and we had made it only 15 minutes late. I was desperate for a touch of his robe, desperate for a taste of Him as I had had many times before I had children. The intoxicating touch of his love that I burn for. The feeling that nothing can replace or mimic even when I try. Homesick to be in his embrace above all the chaos of motherhood.
I looked up into his eyes, so green. So full. As he placed on my head a crown. He smiled and laughed as I wiped my tears dry.
” Oh Rachel! You are my daughter first. Know that and all else makes sense.”
How had I forgotten this?
My crown had so many different points a top of it, that I soon learned I could place my different hats on each point of the crown. The crown was sturdy enough to support all that I had accomplished, and had yet to accomplish. The foundation of who I am as a daughter of Christ.
The vision ended, and I opened my eyes to see our middle daughter resting her head on my Father. Completely at ease, resting in My Dad’s embrace, just as I had as a child. When you are resting in a good Father’s lap, you know you are capable of being loved, and loving others. Your faults are overtaken by your strengths. Your doubt replaced with hope.
A good Father has the authority to speak JOY into your life. A good Father has the RIGHT to call you into your destiny as HIS child.
As Momma’s, we have to remember and embrace the fact that we are a Daughter first. We are , at the risk of sounding clique, we are Daddy’s girls.
I know in our family’s case, my husband is completely wrapped around our daughter’s fingers. It’s rare that they do anything wrong in his eyes. He’s soft with them. Gentle.
If you have a daughter, think back to the very first time that your husband met your daughter. The look in his eyes. The smitten smile. The pride that shined upon his face. The joy and accomplishment he raved about.
Now imagine Jesus looking at you, his daughter. So proud, so accomplished that He can love you and mentor you all the days of your life. Be pleased in you. Proud to call you His daughter.
A Daddy’s girl has a soft spot in her Father’s heart. You are that soft spot in Gods heart.
Know this as you go about your day. As you tirelessly give yourself to these tiny people you love , and sacrifice yourself daily for.
Remember that you are a daughter first. That takes the pressure off to be perfect, doesn’t it? If we are daughters first, we are free to be just His. Free to sit at Daddy’s feet, and ask for his advice. Lavish in his affection.
Twirl in our dresses just to see the grin on his face. The love in his eyes. The pride in his voice as he tells you how loved you are.
That means that even in our two day dirty yoga pants, and our tank top from 7th grade that we just can’t throw away because it’s the best nursing bra, we are gorgeous to Him.
His baby girl.
Soak this in. You are his daughter first. You are loved first. You are wanted first. You are a daughter about all else. All the other roles fall into the fact that you are his daughter.
