Remember who you are and whose you are

"Remember who you are and whose you are." My mom said that to me every time I left the house. Every single time. If she had a little extra time she would even break it down for me.

"Who are you?"

"Suzanne Eaton, your daughter."

"Whose are you?"

"God's."

"I don't want you to ever forget that."

"Got it, mom."

I'm not sure if she knew what a naughty stink I was in high school, but it did often put a small damper on the plans I was getting ready to partake in. The repetition of it all was annoying to me as a teenager. It felt like everything about God was just that, repetition, pithy sayings, and behavior modification. Immense amounts of work to be weird, not have fun, and still continue to disappoint an all-knowing God. I would go through seasons of rebellion then repentance/penance trying to climb my way back to being a good girl so God would be happy with me again. 

I had it all wrong and was without excuse. I was a moron. The church I grew up in had it's share of legalism, but my pastor and my youth pastor did not. I watched first-hand as my parents grew out of a works based faith into a faith built on redemption and grace, but it just didn't click with me. Not until I moved away and grew up. Now I get it. To whom I belong informs everything else. 

Who am I?

Suzanne Price, daughter of Jerry and Bobbie Eaton, wife of Dan Price, mother of three 

Whose am I? 

God's. 

I promise mom, I won't ever forget.