How can a child not know their father? How can a child just watch others boast about their father, And in reality, just not relate?
They know His voice in the morning light, feel His touch in whispered prayers at night, But when He is called Father, Their heart hesitates— As if the word is a foreign language their soul never learned to speak.
A friend, a lover, a guide. They welcome Him in all these forms. Cling to His words, to His presence, Yet stumble when faced with the one title that should feel like home.
And maybe that’s where it all begins— Not knowing how to claim the name, how to rest in the truth that they are His children.
Perhaps the ache is rooted in identity, in not fully embracing the love that declares them chosen, His own, belonging without question or fear.
They wonder if their heart will ever feel what others speak of—the certainty, The unwavering faith that whispers, "I will not leave you as an orphan." Yet they feel like one, lost in the gap between knowing and feeling.
Maybe it's fear, maybe it's doubt, a quiet ache lodged in their chest, wondering if they are enough to be called daughter or son. If they're truly worthy of the love this Holy being is offering them.
But even the slave has a father, though miles and silence lie between them. And even if the heart doesn’t yet know how to call Him, He remains their Father.