I might not be like you.  I have the most boring stories in my childhood. An only child at that and a pastor’s daughter. Father and mother protected me like handling a freshly picked egg out of the nest. That’s the best description of how I was delicately loved. I grew up in a rural town called Aringay, La Union, Philippines (I love my hometown). Our house is in close proximity to the foot of a mountain. Rice fields flourish behind the backyard walls but we are only 10 minutes away from the beach (if riding a jitney). The roosters' crow before the sun rises. Bleating goats greet me on my way to school. Some kids from the mountain ride the water buffalo down to the main street where they get off for school. 

 

One scorching hot school day, I walked back after lunch. I was crossing the road looking from my left to my right when I glanced  upon a speeding motorbike and I froze. The drunk driver hit me right in the middle of the road. I didn’t break a bone or sustained injuries, thank goodness.  My father, upon learning of the accident (from word of mouth, told you it was a small town) ran to the scene. He carried me back home not realizing he was barefoot! My brain was more shocked than my physical body. I wasn't able to walk for a week. 

 

Until it was time to grow and move on to a big city. I enter the world, lost  and small, in the midst of  a crowd, advancing in a direction opposite from mine. You can clearly tell who’s the outsider. I was naive, wrestling with the thought of independence. It is a big word. I was losing myself, my roots, my identity. I think I have identified myself too plainly inside my shell. It wasn't for my parents to take me out of it. It was life and uncertainty that paved the way for me to discover who I really was. 

 

I found the Father in God when I didn’t know who to rescue me if another motorbike crashes. It's when pride is more injured than my bones. It's from the nagging pain from my failures, mistakes, and excess baggage that my Father carried me through. 

 

Fast forward in the now. After a last name change and  four youngsters after, the little strength that I have gathered through the years has been hanging on the greater source higher and loftier than anything around me. My children raised me. My incredible husband challenged me. My loving Father watches over me.

 

You and I are daughters first. It is our unchanging identity. We are not an afterthought. The backstory of our backstories begins with who we are as a daughter. Back when we wore pink dresses matched with white bows. And right before that. Back when fear and impossible are unknown to your 6-year old self. 

 

You will always be the daughter of your heavenly Father. He has not taken his eyes away from you.

 

      Keep me as the apple of Your eye; hide me in the shadow of Your wings                                                                Psalm 17:8