On a sunny May morning at the little league ball field, two little girls dance circles around my chair. Their older brothers are teammates with my son.
The girls show me their bead bracelets and hand me flowers they've plucked from the grass. One of them crawls up onto my lap and asks "Who are you?". I tell her my name, but she shakes her head side to side.
"No, whose are you?"
I smile at her and then scan the field until I spot my boy at first base.
"I'm Josiah's mommy" I tell her as I point him out to her. She giggles before hopping off my lap and running to ask her mom for a snack.
Even three-year-olds know that we all belong to someone.
Whose are you?
Days pass by and I still think of her question.
So often I'm asked Who are you? or How are you?
But Whose are you? not so much.
I'm liking it.
Whose am I?
While it's true that I am Josiah's mom and Josh's wife and so on and on, the real truth is that I belong to the One who created me, loved me, died for me and lives for me.
So now it's a question I ask myself each morning. I jotted it down on a post-it and tucked it into the corner of my bathroom mirror. As I get ready for the day I answer that simple question and think about all that it means to be His.
And I pray for that comforting and joyful answer to shine brightly in my daily life. On the ball field and at the grocery store and in my own home.
Oh, how wonderful it is to belong.
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. ~ 1 Peter 2:9