Several weeks ago, I was driving home after spending the afternoon with my daughter and I was overcome with love that brought me to tears.

Not because anything remarkable had happened. We had simply spent time together.

We laughed. We caught up on life. I watched her love on her little one, and quietly admired the beautiful mother she has become.

As I drove away, one thought settled deeply into my heart.

I just enjoy her so much.

That may not sound profound to most parents, but for me that day it produced worship.

You see, our daughter came to us through foster care. We first welcomed her into our home when she was five years old. We loved her, lost her at seven, prayed for her through years we couldn’t protect her, and by God’s grace welcomed her back when she was eleven. When she was thirteen, we finally had the privilege of making official what our hearts had long believed.

She was our daughter.

A little bit about our girl…because of her tumultuous childhood, she had learned to survive on her own. She came to us with a fierce determination to rely on no one but herself that still shows up in her today. Additionally, she has stuggled with ADHD, memory loss, and years of rebellion.

Years of pushing us away. Years of testing every boundary, almost subconsciously asking if we would stay when it wasn’t easy or convenient.

But we never stopped being her parents. Not once did I look at her and wish she weren’t my daughter. Not once did her hardest days make me love her less. If anything, they stirred an even deeper tenderness. Don’t get me wrong, there were sanctifying days that tested my faith, but even on our worst days, she was ours.

The truth was that she didn’t have to perform or behave to earn a place in our hearts or in our family.

She already had one.

And as for her, she wasn’t learning how to become our daughter, she was learning to believe she already was.

As those thoughts washed over me during that drive home, I found myself praising God.

In that sweet moment, my Father gently reminded me that I am also adopted through Jesus. I am also learning to believe I am truly His daughter and have a place in His heart and in His family.

The Scriptures tell us that everyone who trusts in Christ is adopted into God’s family.

“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (1 John 3:1)

We are no longer servants striving to earn His approval. We are sons. Chosen. Wanted. Loved.

It struck me that I don’t delight in my daughter because she was easy. She wasn’t.

I don’t love her because she has somehow repaid us for all we poured into her.

I don’t enjoy being with her because she now has it all together. I loved her then, I love her now, and I will always love her no matter what.

I delight in her because she is mine.

Could that be how our Father feels about us? It is. The precious word of God reminds us over and over again that it is. Those who are close to me know that Zephaniah 3:17 is one of my life verses.

“The LORD your God is with you… He will take great delight in you… He will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zephaniah 3:17)

What a breathtaking picture of God’s heart!! He doesn’t merely tolerate His children, He delights in them.

Somewhere along the way, many of us have come to believe that God is perpetually disappointed with us and that He loves us because He has to, but doesn’t really enjoy us.

We imagine Him sighing every time we fail or waiting for us to get our act together. But that isn’t the Father Jesus revealed.

Our pastor likens this to when we watch our own children learn something new, like walking for instance. We are not angry at them when they fall, we help them up. We take joy in the process and celebrate the victories.

When God looks at us, He sees His beloved children clothed in the righteousness of Christ. He knows every weakness, every scar, every place we’re still healing, and yet He calls us His own.

And when we fall, He helps us up and takes joy in our journey.

I once heard a story about children who had been adopted into a loving family. Though they now had a warm bed, a full pantry, and parents who adored them, they continued hiding food under their beds and sleeping in closets.

Their circumstances had changed. Their identity had changed. But their thinking had not.

I wonder how often we do the same thing. We hoard and grasp for control because we don’t trust that our needs will be met. We strive because we think His affection must be earned. We wear ourselves out trying to prove what Jesus has already secured.

We’re living like orphans even though we have a dwelling place with Jesus, who meets all of our needs.

When we truly believe we are beloved sons and daughters, we stop striving for approval and begin living from it.

We confess our sins without fear because we know we’re not confessing to a Judge who is looking for a reason to condemn us, but to a Father who delights in restoring His children.

We pray differently, rest differently, love differently.

We become generous because we know our Father is not running out of goodness. We become courageous because rejection no longer defines us. We become secure because our identity is no longer something we have to protect.

Perhaps the invitation isn’t to spend our lives trying to become worthy of being called sons and daughters of God. Perhaps it’s to spend our lives learning to rest in the truth that, because of Jesus, we already are.

As I drove home that day, I spent time thanking God for my girl. And for Jesus.

For the years He carried us. For the wounds He has slowly healed. For the laughter we now share. For the woman and mother she has become. I have learned so much about parenthood, love and life through her adoptions story, through my adoption story. And again, the same thought fills my heart…

I just enjoy her so much.

Simply because she’s my daughter.

Ardently His,

Jenifer

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