I'm sitting in a tiny little garden next to the chapel at Princeton Seminary staring down at my name tag and wishing it said something else.
My dad isn't famous by any means (he will tell you so himself), but he's written a bunch of books and travels and speaks and a lot of people love him and a lot of people hate him, which means something.
I am so proud of him. So proud to call him father. Proud when people ask me if I am his daughter. Proud to have a close connection with someone whose writing inspires the lives of others.
But now here I am, at a place where many would know his name, and I am a Petters.
I contemplated asking for my name tag to say Elizabeth Enns, anything to start up a conversation in a place where I know nobody.
I am struck by how desperately I feel I need this safety net.
This is a big moment for me.
Who are you Lizz?
Who are you as a writer, with nothing to stand on but your passion for words and a desire to write?
No hiding behind someone else. Just me.
It never ceases to amaze me the ways that little life things challenge us.
My name changing wasn't some intensely God-ordained event so that I could come to this conference and find myself as a writer outside of my dad. It was the natural progression of life: I get married, name change. But isn't it awesome how He's using it anyway, as minor as it is, to guide me on this journey?
Here we go Elizabeth Petters. It's all you.
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