Identity Imprints

For a long time, I dreaded going out in public. My family was falling apart, and it seemed like the whole town was watching. We lived in a fairly small (but very affluent) community, and dirty laundry was hard to hide. Not just because of the typical small-town rumor mill, but because we kind of (totally) stuck out like a sore thumb. First off, we were NOT affluent, and there were A LOT of us: my first husband, eleven children, and me. 

Yes, eleven. We lived on a main and highly visible highway in an old, dilapidated farmhouse surrounded by cornfields on all sides. And just in case our lone, ancient farmhouse didn’t stand out enough, there was a broken-down, weathered barn in the back that looked like a strong wind might take it away. Actually, the barn was so bad, it made the house look pretty nice. (Not.) We drove our family around in a 15-passenger van—a RED 15-passenger van. The only one in town. It was always parked in our driveway, because it didn't fit in the tiny one-car garage. Nothing subtle about that, either. 

To make us even more conspicuous, the eleven kids were usually running around in the yard or in and out of the corn field. (Nothing weird about kids and cornfields, right?) From the highway, it appeared that I must have been running an in-home daycare, but alas, they were all mine. The cherry on the sundae was the frequent visits by local police, usually because I called them during one of my first husband’s drunken rages. And the police cars always came in pairs—the flashing of two sets of blue and red lights could be seen for miles. We were that family. You know, the family that everyone either looked down upon or felt sorry for. I loathed being that family. From the time I was a little girl, I dreamed of having a big, happy family. Well, my dream had turned into a nightmare and a public spectacle. I wanted to be The Waltons, but we were much better suited for The Jerry Springer Show.

So, it’s easy to see why I was never psyched about venturing out and seeing people. My least favorite and most dreaded outings were school functions. Ugh. I dreaded moving up and down those hallways in a sea of perfect people—perfect parents with perfect families. Being corralled in those tiny hallways meant looks, stares, and worse: eye contact! Gah! Eye contact with hundreds of other parents, neighbors, and teachers that would only break when they wanted a good look at my brood. I didn't even have it in me to make eye contact with all the sweet little kids, much less all of those “judgy” adults. (That is the way their looks felt, but I came to learn that in reality, there were many caring and compassionate people who just wanted to help, and did.)

I will never forget one particular evening that one of my “littles” had a concert at the grade school. I had worked myself up into a state of complete dread that day, rehearsing how I would feel during the uncomfortable and awkward hallway gawking. I could manage the program itself, as all eyes would be looking forward, but the before and after… Ick! As the time to leave approached, I began to get desperate. I scrolled through multiple scenarios in my mind that would legitimately allow me to get out of this school function...but there were none. No one was sick or bleeding or dying and nothing was on fire. After considering offering some less dramatic excuses, I decided I just couldn't bear to disappoint my excited little sweetie strictly because of my own insecurity and dread. For that child and that child only, I was definitely going to go. 

So, I got everyone ready to leave and sent them out the door. All the kids were in the van waiting for me, but for the baby on my hip. Just before begrudgingly exiting my unhidden hideout, I paused to gather myself. In a lame attempt to suck it up, I let out one last sigh through gritted teeth. I grabbed the door knob while psyching myself up for the coming walk of shame.

 The next moment transformed my perspective for eternity! As I stood at the door, I heard the voice of the Lord whisper gently and ever-so-lovingly to my heart (as if He were saying it with a smile):

Always remember to wear your crown. 

Wait … what... my what? Did I just hear....crown? That's what He said: my crown. 

Isn’t it remarkable how God can pack SO MUCH into so few words? This not-so-little charge packed a punch! “Always remember to wear your crown” meant “Don’t forget you’re a Daughter of the King.” Kapow! It took my breath away! As I got into the van and drove to the school, I marveled. I meditated. I pondered! I began cataloging Scriptures in my mind about being God’s child and about being adopted by Him. I remembered Scriptures about His royalty and the inheritance we have in Him. I even recalled hearing that I was a Co-heir with Christ! I was blown away; they all lined up! Indeed, The Word of God said I was a royal daughter! I marveled as I put these truths together and rehearsed them in an attempt to wrap this limited mind around such an unlimited promise.

I am the daughter of a King. The King of the universe, in fact. He is my Father and He is royalty! He adopted me and that makes me royalty, too. Yes, and royal daughters are princesses! I am a princess! Wow! Royal daughters wear crowns. He wants me to always wear my crown! 

And there it was... the truth about who I really was... a truth that no cop cars or rumors or old crummy houses and barns could change. I was a daughter of the King and nothing could take away my crown!

That night in those hallways, I walked taller. I stood straighter. My shoulders were back instead of slouched, and a new confidence I had never known before filled me. Heart, mind, will, and emotions were all in sync with my true identity as I chose to trust the One who saw me for who I really was...a Princess. I was not who I appeared to be. Sure, I looked poor and some may even say like a fool, but I was Royalty.

I went to my kids' school differently than I ever had before. I did not show up that night as the local scandal and I did not walk those halls in shame. I went in boldness and confidence in who I really am because He whispered my true identity to me during one of my lowest points. I only had to believe it. And I did! I trusted His Word and what it said about me because I learned long ago you can’t talk God out of His own Word. Instead of shrinking back that night, I looked every single person I passed in those jam-packed halls in the eye... 

...and smiled like a daughter of the King would. 

We will never live a life free from judgement. People judge. And we will probably always have fleeting thoughts of insecurity that will sneak up on us and try to swallow us up when we least expect it. But we always have this rock to stand on:

What God says about us is the truest thing about us. 

If we choose to believe this, we’ll never have to bow to those judgements or to any crushing, diminishing thoughts again. We can always remember to wear our crowns. 

Some months after this grade school victory, on a quiet weekday afternoon, I went out to my driveway to load something into the back of my van. When I opened the doors, I noticed a large bag that I knew I had not put there. Curiously, I looked into the bag, and in disbelief, I pulled out a fur coat. A FUR COAT! Attached to it was a note that simply read: 

For my Princess,

Love,

God

I will be a Father to you, and you will be sons and daughters to Me, says the Lord Almighty. 2 Corinthians 6:12

Excerpt from “The Identity Effect” for release, Fall of 2019