I arrive home late and the lights in the living room are at full tilt. My teenage daughter greets me with teary cheeks and eyes wonder-full. She’s bursting a bit, telling me she experienced Jesus in her core, right where her uncertainty had been weighing her down. In worship, the faith came – a song newly released, a new song in her heart. I’m stilled, taking her in. She invites me to listen. I listen, and I witness the work of the Holy Spirit.

I sit quietly with the lyrics awhile, and my daughter explains that she needs the words of truth to wash over her in worship. This truth never gets old, even for me, the old mama; I am who he says I am. As a mother, I need to renew my mind with truth to increase my faith to live this vocation authentically – to wage truth through the bloody crosses. I have to believe who God says I am if I am to move ever deeper into the vision and plans he has initiated.

And I sit and think of the dynamics that are the same for me as for my daughter. What if our identity is loosely defined? What is at stake? Well, when life gets busy and the perfect storm hits, ground is lost or is at best shaky. The hollow territory of doubting, striving, grasping to be enough, make enough, do enough, threatens to take residence when we forget who we already are in the eyes of God.

We have a birthright crowned by the hand of God Himself. Mary restored motherhood by saying “yes” to the truth of who God said she was. Her authentic humility paradoxically rooted her in the enough-ness of a boundless God and allowed for salvation to pour forth on mankind. Am I saying “yes” to who God says I am, Mary?

Do we mamas run to him when our perspective clouds? When our projects and plans for ourselves and our families run us to the point of exhaustion or just get stuck in neutral? Do we let the Holy Spirit pour afresh the vital doses of wonder-filled peace?

The peace of our identity is the seedbed of faith and the inlet for His love.

My teenage daughter is learning where to run when her soul forgets – where to find the anchor of her identity. I couldn’t be more amazed to witness this pure grace nor more honored to stand with her as a daughter of the king covered in Mary’s mantle.