A few weeks ago, I was tasked with the job of picking my 3-year old granddaughter up from preschool. It was the first time I had visited the school, but Nona was expecting me. When I reached the door of the classroom and told the teacher I was there for Nona, she called out and said, “Nona, your grandma is here.” Nona whirled around and looked straight at me. She furrowed her brow and a frown spread across her face. “That’s NOT grandma!” she said.
The children joined in, several chanting, “Nona, your grandma is here.” Nona became obviously frustrated and said, “You guys, that’s NOT Grandma! That’s LULU!” You see, LuLu is the grandma name my daughters bestowed on me when Nona was born. And, she has another grandmother she calls Grandma.
So, despite the awkwardness, Nona had identified me correctly. I’m not her Grandma … I am her LuLu. We were able to get everything straightened out before Child Protective Services was called, and Nona happily took my hand and we left together.
As I’ve thought and chuckled about this experience, I’ve come to realize that Nona expressed more confidence in my identity than I sometimes feel. I’m a child of God … but sometimes I do not feel worthy of that name. I’m forgiven, but I occasionally still feel very guilty.
Through Jesus’s death and resurrection, we are invited to be identified as part of His family … children of God. What does this say about us … about the guarantee of our identity?