Identity

Identity.

When we visited my Uncle Bill long years ago, he had one or two of those Magic Eye pictures on his wall. He delighted in watching our faces as we struggled and strained to discern the hidden picture. He offered a few tips. Let your eye relax. Imagine a point beyond the picture. Sheer relief when the hidden image emerged, as I think we felt a bit foolish until we could pick out the picture.

Being with young grandchildren a bit, I often wonder just who these precious souls will grow into. God has given some hints with some precious prayer times before their births, which makes it exciting to watch as what he whispered is beginning to come out.

Flick loves all sorts of tales of fairy princesses, so we have encountered the magic mirror of Snow White’s stepmother. Interesting that her biggest concern was her appearance, and she demanded of the mirror to tell the truth of who was the most beautiful in the kingdom.

Often, our own insecurity of our self-image is as shallow as that.

But I’m thinking about Jesus, as a baby, as a toddler, beginning to awaken to the truth of his identity. He didn’t look into a magic mirror. He didn’t look into a Magic Eye picture.

He looked at Scripture. And the longer he looked at Scripture, relaxing in his Father’s loving presence, the more clearly he saw himself and understood his true identity and calling.

When we look long enough into our Bibles, we, too, see ourselves and understand better our true identity. Children of the King. Loved.

Out of our understanding of our identity, our callings emerge. Some callings are universal: to worship and love God, to share him with others, to be filled with the Spirit and be transformed daily into the best version of ourselves. Some callings are peculiar to us: to write, to speak, to serve, to sing, to raise children.

May God help me to look long into Scripture, and then move out in faith and confidence.

Kingdom Builders

Identity. So many people struggle with it. Am I a doctor, a housewife, a writer, a mother? Or is that just what I do, not who I am?

Obvious answer. Of course my identity is so much more, and so much more complicated, than just what I do with my time and to make a living. In our culture, when you meet someone at a dinner party, for instance, one of the opening questions will be ‘What do you do?’ 

As a stay-at-home mum of four, I used to dread that question. It always made me feel pointless, worthless, and my feelings of despair irritated my husband who always reassured me that what I was doing was worth so much more than bringing home a salary. 

Wouldn’t it be so much more interesting, though, if the opening question on meeting a stranger was ‘Who are you?’ – a question encompassing more than just a request for a name but a deeper answer?

I think it’s too frightening a question for most people to handle, because so many people do confuse what they do with who they are.

I’m working on an article on retirement, and reflecting on what a blow it can be for someone who has equated his identity with his profession, to suddenly lay down that profession. Many retirees go through a period of depression as they struggle to come to terms with the fact that they are no longer a ‘doctor’, ‘lawyer’, or ‘teacher’. 

From a Christian perspective, we are children of the King of Kings. That is just who we are. And what does that mean, in terms of what we do? We are Kingdom builders. From the moment we surrender to Jesus as our Lord and King, and forever more. Even when we in old age, when we can no longer ‘do’ much, our remit is to build the Kingdom. Through prayer. Through relationships. Through kindness.

So go on being filled with the Holy Spirit, and go on building the Kingdom. That’s who you are – a Kingdom-Builder.

You are my Daughter, whom I love

It’s funny how often it happens that the reading I’m doing for my Bible study group overlaps with my personal reading or the topic in church or whatever. I guess God is trying hard to get me to hear sometimes.

What I suddenly heard loud and clear just as I was about to go to sleep last night were the words, ‘You are my daughter, whom I love’. We’ve been going through Matthew in church and that was the topic for the service last Sunday, as well as follow up discussion Monday night, with the obvious gender variation. I’d noticed Monday night that the Father had commended the Son before he’d even done any public ministry. He loved Jesus for who he was. 

And suddenly as I drifted off to sleep last night, those words seared into my mind. He loves me for who I am, not for what I do. Wow. That blows my mind.

Then this morning I did my Bible study for tomorrow morning’s group and guess what? It was reading about Jesus’ baptism again, this time in Luke. Again the words, ‘You are my son, whom I love...’

But even more than that, if any more is needed. Whenever I feel confused about my identity – am I a writer or a wife or a mum or a housekeeper or ...? Am I American or British? Etc – this is the bottom line. I am the daughter of the King of Kings. 

Wow. Why stress over any of the rest of it? What more is needed?

And the great thing is, I am nothing special. He says these astonishing, life-changing words to everyone. It’s just that so many have grown deaf and disinterested, cynical and lacking self-worth. 

So if you’re reading this, open your ears, and your heart. He’s speaking to you, too. ‘You are my daughter/son, whom I love.’

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.

Tartan

Identity.

Here in Scotland you’re known by your tartan. Don, having gone to school with boys wearing family tartan kilts, can identify an Anderson or a MacLeod from a hundred metres off. 

At weddings, men wear their tartan kilts with pride. 

Of course, there are people with no family tartan, but there are others to be worn. Clergy. Black Watch. Royal Stewart. 

Don once designed a God tartan for a preacher from Nigeria. 

There is an inherent need to belong.  Without a sense of belonging, human beings feel adrift. A bit lost. A bit lonely. 

What a blessing that when you become a Christian, you are grafted into the best family there is. The family of God. Nobody is excluded. Those without traceable roots need feel lost and lonely no longer. 

We can all qualify for the God Tartan.