How Being a Daughter Changed My Life

Being a daughter changed my life.

“Andi, what do you mean being a daughter changed your life? You’ve always been a daughter.” 

Yes, but no; let me explain.

Talking in a practical sense, it’s safe to say I knew I was a daughter before the race. Obviously, I have parents, so I’m their daughter. I knew that, but that’s not what’s important.

Rewind to before my race:

I knew God was a father. And I knew He was good. Because I had been told that. 

But here’s what I didn’t know: I didn’t know, or at least believe that He was my father. I didn’t know He was a good father. As in I didn’t know the words “good” and “father” were words that could be associated with each other, as in I didn’t know “good” could describe His character as a father. I kept those two words separate in attempt to do what I thought was guarding my own heart. 

Knowing He was a father didn’t mean much, because I didn’t know He was my father, I didn’t know he was a good father.

And if I didn’t know He was my father, I definitely didn’t know I was His daughter. And if I didn’t know He was a good father, I definitely didn’t know that made me a good daughter. 

And if I didn’t know these seemingly basic truths, I most certainly couldn’t believe them. 

I can’t recall ever calling myself a daughter before the race. Yeah, I loved the Lord. I knew I was spending eternity with Him. I knew He loved me. But I didn’t believe He loved me. I didn’t believe I could be His daughter, a good daughter. What had been kept in my head had never made the 18 inch journey to my heart, it had been blocked by untruth that was already there. I had been a daughter living as an orphan. The enemy had convinced me I was an orphan. 

I had been living in lies; about myself and Him. Lies I had come to know so well, I was convinced they were truth. So I submitted to them as truth. The words of the world were my truth, my experience in this broken world was my truth. It was comfortable, it was what I knew.

I had mistaken Him for an earthly father, unknowingly placing that character onto Him. It had only made sense that if others were not safe, He wasn’t either; if others had left me, He would too; if others didn’t care for me, love me, see me, or want me, He wouldn’t either. If the love I had experienced was conditional, His must have been too. 

I had been looked down upon with frustration and disappointment. I had been left, rejected, taken advantage of, and unwanted. I had been told all the things- that I wasn’t good enough, or worthy, that I was at fault, and too messy, that I should hide in shame. I took these experiences, these words, and accepted them as truth, a reflection of who I was. This was what I knew, so I claimed it as who I was, without even realizing it. 

But then…

But then came the race. 

As I sat in the AIM pavilion one September morning, I read Psalm 27:8 and paused.

“‘My heart says this about you: “Seek his face.’ Lord, I will seek your face.”

“What does it look like to seek you?” I asked Him.

“It looks like seeking me as a father. I want you to let me be your father, I want you to let me hold your hand. To let me laugh with you, cry with you, dance with you, and hold you in every moment.” 

He spoke big time. 

What I thought would just be another morning would be a day that would change the way I saw the Lord. And He continued to speak, to show me who He was and who I was over my entire race.

Despite my plans, He broke out of the box I had put Him in. And He broke down the walls I had put around my own heart. Now I laugh at myself for foolishly thinking I could contain him.

He brought the pain and very reasons I was running from Him to the surface, without giving me a choice. To show me how I had been so deceived about Him, to bring healing. To show me that He is a father who brings comfort. To show in my skepticism and unbelief, He runs after me with even more patience and grace.

He showed me who he really was, not who I had made him out to be. That He wasn’t comparable to an earthly father but my perfect, heavenly Father, a good father. And in realizing who He was, I realized who I was- His daughter, a good daughter. That I am a daughter solely because of His character, solely because He chose me, and always will choose me. He showed me the vast difference of how I had seen myself and how He had always seen me- as a reflection of Him, with pride, joy, and love.

The disapproval of others that I had lived in for so long was replaced by living from and in His approval. 

In being a daughter, I don’t have to live in shame. I don’t have to strive for love. I don’t have to be perfect. I get to walk in the freedom and grace he gives, knowing that I will always be loved by Him more than I could ever comprehend.

So yes, being a daughter changed my life. Because before I knew who I was in Him, I wasn’t even living.

So yes, I have “daughter” tattooed on my foot because it’s something the Lord has etched into me over my race, and given me the freedom and authority to walk in.

There’s no way I could explain this whole process, or the depth of the beauty in it in just one blog, or even several. There’s no way I could explain all the ways the Lord used the race to change my life in a blog, but I wanted to give you a glimpse of it at least.

I’m so thankful for the many ways the Lord has changed my life through the race, and honored to share it with you! If you want to hear more I’d love to chat! Thanks for reading 🙂