In My Father’s House


In my Father’s house,
There’s a place for me.
I’m a child of God,
Yes I am.

Hillsong Worship

His aunt’s hand stretched backwards from the row in front of us at church, handing him two old photographs. In one, there’s a boy maybe twelve or thirteen with a red button-up shirt who looks like our son Cole, sitting next to a little black and white dog, that ironically looks like our dog Luna as well. As my husband studied the young man in the photograph, I studied him. Waiting to see if there was a warmth in his eyes as they tracked back and forth over the photos and to our son, as he compared them. Was there any reaction to seeing a man we seldom talk about? And there was, but I could see it was met with hesitation.

As I searched his eyes and studied his facial expressions, the worship band played Hillsong Worships, I am who you say I am. As we’re singing along, my mind realizes his hesitation wasn’t just rooted in the fact of the man being his father, or that he had passed years ago. His hesitation came from not knowing where his place was now. And how that picture was probably more important to him than he would care to admit. Mindlessly, the lyrics slipped out until I read the verse on the screen above, “In – my – father’s -house – , there’s – a – place – for – me -” and my voice cut out under the heaviness of the words. I couldn’t finish. None of us had a place in our father’s house, not God, but our biological fathers.

In my Father’s house there’s a place for me.

Over the years my focus had been on myself never having a place in my father’s house, and on my daughter, who didn’t have a place in her father’s house. My husband was raised by a wonderful man, who was technically his stepfather, but he accepted him as his own and treated him as such his whole life. He was his and is his father. It never crossed my mind that maybe he missed the lack of a relationship with his biological father. I had missed the fact that he too hadn’t felt as though he had a place with his own biological father, which explained more than I realized. But God’s plan was already in place; we just needed to trust and have faith.

I am chosen. Not forsaken. I am who You say I am.

Every year just before Christmas, my husband’s grandma would call him and invite us to the family breakfast at our local Elmer’s restaurant. “Matthew, this is Grandma”, she’d say, and he would respond by saying, “Yes Grandma, I know it is you, it says your name in my phone” and they would share a laugh. She would extend the invite, and we would accept. The last couple of years she would call out of the blue just to say hi and to tell him she loved him. And I would tell him he needed to spend more time with her, and he would agree, but it wouldn’t happen.

This past year that changed. What started with Christmas breakfast became a wedding, church, lunches, visits etc. It’s funny to look back now and see how smart she was in knowing that she planted the seed each Christmas starting with the breakfast, we just had to water it daily for it to grow. In January, there was a push in my heart and not a light one, it was more like a shove to get back into church, and to be closer with his family. Church was where his family was rooted, and where Grandma was every Sunday. When we would hug her and say good morning to her, I remember thinking she had the kindest eyes, and though I’ve never liked anyone touching my face, the way her hand cupped my cheek as she said good morning in return, is something I will treasure always.

Free at last, He has ransomed me. His grace runs deep.

The last time I saw her, she stopped my husband as he was walking out of her hospital room. She was asleep we had thought and suddenly we hear, “Matthew, don’t you leave me.” and it made us laugh for a minute. We had thought at first she was going to pull through, but it seemed as though we were wrong. While some other words were spoken in that room that night, that will remain in that room, but my husband received one of the grandest gifts he’ll ever receive. As he stood at her bedside she spoke to him and said, “Don’t forget me, I love you” and I don’t know that I will ever be able to recall that memory without crying, because I know he had thought of her so much over the years, but it was his hesitation that kept him away. It was one of the few times I had witnessed my usually strong as an oak husband, cry.

Grandma passed away a little over a week later, and although that was the last time I saw her, he visited her again which I know he is grateful for. Yesterday, we celebrated her life in the most beautiful way, through worship which was something I learned yesterday that she loved. Witnessing my husband up on stage with his cousins, all worshiping and singing praise together for both the joy of her living a loving life, and now dancing in heaven with Jesus was priceless. And, to know now that this writing piece that I have been working on for weeks, rooted around a song during worship and her, is all the more fitting.

I am who you say I am.

As we were about to leave her celebration of life, our son Cole, looked over at his great grandmother’s photograph and said he only – almost cried a couple times – and laughed, as he hugged me. He teased me for crying as he usually does because I cry all the time. When he asked what made me cry, I told him to look around, to see the surrounding family, the church we now belonged to and to remember it was all because of her, and that this was God’s plan all along. We just needed to water the seed from Christmas.

My husband is his grandmother’s grandson, his father’s son, his aunt’s nephew, and welcomed by the highest king whose love for him, found him and brought him home at the right time. While the push for me to return to the church, to be closer to his family is equally a blessing for me, it was all in God’s plan for my husband to find his place. The lyrics to “I am who you say I am” don’t just belong to a beautiful song of love, redemption and having a place with God, they also tell a story. A story of where a little boy’s grandmother reminded him of where his place was, how to get there again and that he was always loved and deserving.

Published by

Totally Jessifiable

Raised in the South, St. Mary’s GA – Go Dawgs! Living in the Northwest raising three, never boring teenagers, and embarrassing them as often as possible with my favorite man in the world. My writing will take you to the trenches, to where foundation has crumbled beneath my feet and I'm too weak to stand, yet strong enough to kneel. It will make you feel as though you are sitting beside me in moments of redemption with Jesus too. My life is not a fairytale, but I still believe in them and there are moments when love can shatter any heart of stone. It's my choice to share my stories, but its Gods purpose to have me share it. It needs to be known that you can struggle, battle, fail and go through hell, yet come up and out of those trenches as a warrior with a beautiful redemption story. I do my best to write with poise and gut-busting grace so its an adventure. Being blunt as all get out, saying it exactly how it is, saves everyone time. You’ll learn to love and appreciate me, and if not – that’s cool too. I’m a “go big or go home” kind of gal and nothing I do is ever half-hearted or under thought.

4 thoughts on “In My Father’s House

  1. That had me crying and so glad you found the place you belong. Our God is an awesome God and he always works out things perfectly. Love you guys so much.. Mary Beth

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  2. Jess you always seem to hit me dead center to my heart. Yesterday was Mother’s Day and interpreted at two different churches. For the first time in my life everything just made perfect sense. Much like what you described. Then I came home to a different scenario with all the people that live here. My daughter-in-law and her mother (who is here for a visit) had some sort of misunderstanding centered around something MY mom did with the kindest of intentions. So I spent my mother’s day trying to make my mom’s better after the fiasco. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I have often been less than grateful for the things my mom has done for me from time to time. I realized in that instant that it most definitely has been God’s plan all along. He has been trying to tell me that my place has always been right where I am. He has been showering me with love so strongly these past few days (either that or He has been all along, and I am just now opening up to receive Him haha). It doesn’t matter where we came from because once we wholly accept Him in our lives our past no longer defines us. We belong to Him. Keep being you. You are so special. Love you

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    1. Gwen! I think you and I were on similar wavelengths yesterday. I treasure your heart, and I love that God finds a way to open our eyes a little wider or in a new angle to see the things we may have looked past. I hope you had a wonderful Mother’s Day.

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