Identity

Who am I?

Does it depend on where I was born? Which parents raised me? 

Does it change with my age? With my circumstances? With my health?

I’ve been hobbling a bit lately, as a result of the injury sustained by my foot in the final donut dash in Long Beach. It is annoying me because I do a lot of walking. Or hobbling, as the case may be.

I thought that if anyone drove past me at yesterday, they would be likely to think that there went a fairly old lady. Hobbling. Limping. Slowly.

My self-image includes walking strongly and at a brisk pace, playing tennis energetically and winning some of the time, and playing the cello to a moderate level of proficiency. I am doing none of those things now, for various health reasons. Has my identity thus changed, or since I still long to do all those things in my mind, has it remained the same? And what happens to those poor folks who are injured and end up in wheel chairs, or contract diseases which incapacitate them? What does that do to their self-image, to their identity?

It’s a good thing that at the heart of it all, I know that my identity is in Jesus Christ, and that whatever fluff and extras there are which I think define me, He knows the core of who I am and that will one day be revealed, when he gives me my new name. A name, Biblically-speaking, always signifies more than just a few letters strung together. It communicates a personality, an identity.

Like Immanuel. God with us. 

Still, I look forward to walking firmly and resolutely again. Whether or not it says anything about my identity.