Daughter

For nearly half of my life, I’ve been a mother. It’s one of my primary roles; it’s the one many people associate me with most, I think. Of course, I am also a wife. That’s probably my defining hat, if you were to really get down to it.

But the title I’ve held longest? Daughter.

I started out as a daughter. We all start out as someone’s baby, after all. It’s how God begins our story, no matter how complex the next chapters might be.

Despite spending the first 21 years of my life under the umbrella of “daughter,” I admit, I haven’t felt like a daughter in a very, very long time. I graduated from high school while living with the family of a classmate, went to college on my own dime, married, moved across the country, and settled into a life where the person who had known me longest was my husband. My parents were hours away by plane, on the opposite coast, or, when I finally decided it was time for one of our monthly or bi-monthly check-ins and picked up the phone, on the other end of a line.

My parents were not– are not— perfect. But then again, I’ve never claimed to be the ideal daughter. There’s plenty of grace required in all directions, and because I most definitely want to receive it, I have learned that I have to first offer it. God convicted me of as much years back, when He set about rebuilding the places in my heart laid to waste when my parents divorced. In the process, I now see how He gently began preparing me for the place I find myself today.

Because today, I am a daughter.

Today, I live 90 minutes from my father. He comes to visit and brings power tools for my teenage sons, and buckets for the little ones. He buys us all pizza. He gets excited talking lawn mowers with Mathaus and chickens with Christopher. He calls me “Baby,” my childhood nickname. He tells me he loves me before he drives away.

Today, I drive 45 minutes to a rehab facility to cheer my mom on as she fights back from chemo, diabetic neuropathy, and a fall. I sit in on a physical therapy session. I meet with the dietician. I tell her how far she has come, and implore her to keep going. I bring her drawings from my little ones, covered in hearts.

Our relationships are still, daily, in need of so much grace towards one another. There’s still a delicate dance between us, places we don’t prod too deeply. But we are learning. We are trying.

So here I am. A few weeks shy of 42, figuring out what it means to be a daughter. Trying to define how, and when, our lives can and should intersect, and when it’s better for them to have breathing room. Some (most?) days I feel like an old dog learning a new trick, but I figure that’s God’s point. Come close, and learn the next thing I have for you. Serve a whole new way. Be poured out, and heal your heart through it. Be a daughter, and let them be a mom and a dad.