"Ofelia, I want you to call the Captain ‘father'."

"But he's not my father."

"Why does that matter? It's just a word, Ofelia."

These lines are from the movie "Pan's Labyrinth" which we watched as a team on Sunday night. For some reason, this exchange of conversation between the main character, Ofelia, and her mother struck me on a deeper level, especially that last phrase: It's just a word.

We've been reading through Neil T. Anderson's book Who I Am In Christ which deals mainly with our identity. At the end of each chapter, Anderson includes a short prayer which he encourages his readers to pray out loud. Those prayers all start with the same phrase: "Dear Heavenly Father". Anderson explains why when he says, "That is the most important inward, personal thing we can say as we address God. And if He is our Father, we must be His children." (Who I Am In Christ, p. 28)

I think I had that thought in mind when I was arrested by Ofelia's mother's flippant comment that ‘father' is "just a word". To call someone "father" is to acknowledge a particular way in which you relate to him, usually as his child. The use of the word is dependent on the existence of a relationship. How many times have we heard the child of an absentee dad say, "I have no father"? Or an adopted child call the adoptive parent ‘father' instead of the biological parent? There is great weight and meaning behind that little word, but how often do I refer to God as my Father without fully realizing what it is that I'm saying?

When I pray those words—Dear Heavenly Father—I'm acknowledging the existence of a relationship between me and God. In that relationship, He has the authority; He has the responsibility of providing; He has the duty of disciplining. In that relationship, I have the responsibility of being obedient; I get to enjoy His provision; I must accept and learn from His discipline. God is not an absentee father; He has adopted me into His family, and He loves me more than my earthly father ever could. As I acknowledge God's role as my Father, I am also acknowledging my role as His child. I think that's the part I tend to forget as speak of Him as a Heavenly Father. I am His child! And as such, my value and worth are infinite. I am (as the kids' song says) precious in His sight.

I think this is a lesson I will be continuing to learn over the next few months: I should not be quick to dismiss what I say as "just words". It's so easy to go through the motions of explaining my relationship with God or to pray using the words and phrases I've been taught, but what would happen if I took the time to understand what I really mean when I say those things? What truths—truths about God; truths about myself—would I be reminded of? What would happen if I said what I mean and meant what I said?