As a child, I had it all backwards when it came to God. I felt forgotten. And I could not forget my sins.
Fifth grade seemed like a Right-of-Passage kind of year from little kid to big kid. Big kids have their big teeth. The whole tooth fairy thing was supposed to be completed well before the the day when you walk into fifth grade proudly displaying the pearly whites. My two front teeth, however, decided to wait to make an appearance until later that year. My gummy grin said it all. I was shamefully immature, and thus christened "toothless".
It wouldn't have been so bad to be called by another name by mistake, or to have even been ignored. But to be dubbed by my weakest attribute? Had I not already felt like God was punishing me by moving our family to Ceres, California; I might have shrugged it off easier.
Even the bus driver knew all the other kid's names. Back home, my friends at school called me by name. We'd skip home together, unaware of the need to be self-conscious. Our whole church congregation knew I was the Pastor's kid, and they all knew my name. And no one ever cared if my teeth were in or out.
The only solution was to move back home where I belonged. So I begged God to do it. I prayed it every night. I Imagined it everyday during the hour-ling bus ride through the outskirts of Ceres. But it never happened.
A Sunday school teacher once told me that God didn't answer prayers because of some sin in our lives. I figured I must have a lot of sin.
Decades passed. I'd forgotten the sorrow-filled pleadings of that fifth grader. Yet the sense of inadequacy remained. Unanswered prayers often triggered thoughts like: I wonder what I did wrong now...
One night I asked God to reveal the root of my insecurity. After prayerfully holding the issue before Him, a memory arose in my mind like it happened yesterday.
I could see myself riding home from school, alone on the bus seat. Sad. Forgotten.
The driver pulled up to to my stop. I felt the familiar dread like lead in my stomach. No one ever met me. Everyone had their own lives. I would walk down the road alone, as always.
I looked out the window. This time I saw something different.
There he was, waiting for me. My Dad stood scanning the bus with a look of anticipation in His eyes. I grabbed my stuff, hoping he wasn't a mirage.
It wasn't that Dad meant to ignore me, his mind had been preoccupied with serious things, like relocating his family and starting a new church. He was unaware that I missed the way he used to call me "Darlin." Yet I couldn't help but wonder if I'd done something wrong.
I looked again, just to make sure. A sun ray mirrored the window. Not only could I see my Dad's adoring smile, I could see my own reflection layered on the glass. A ten year old with a toothless grin, so happy to see her Daddy that she forgot to hold her hand in front of her mouth.
I flew down the steps and jumped into His arms.
Between hiccuped sobs, I unloaded my sorrow in the safety of his embrace. His long-awaited answer filled a vacancy in my heart. He simply said "I love you, Darlin."
God remembered the desperate prayers of a ten year old after all. I felt like I belonged again...
"...even these may forget, but I will not forget you." Isaiah 49:15
