Identity

Do my roles in life and their natural progression of changes define me? No. Do my circumstances and crises fundamentally alter my identity? No, they display what or who holds me together and pulls me apart. They merely reveal and pull back the veil exposing to light who I am at my core. Nothing less. Nothing more. Was I still me when I became his wife? Overwhelmingly yes, though he unarguably and permanently altered my life. Did becoming a mother a new identity create or did it merely reveal more of myself to me… Reveal, not negate? If I were to lose all I held dear in an instantaneous flash, would my identity be secure? Would I be tied to that ship with a lash? Surely a part of me would die, a larger than life dying to self. More than I ever would naturally offer, like Isaac stretched out on the alter. Will I open my fists and know that I’m His, and know that to grieve is not to irretrievably falter? Even shipwrecked and tossed, and changed by life’s roles and its highs and its lows, His image emblazoned indelibly on me can never be lost. It’s not tied to my doing or who calls me mama or who holds me at night in my bed. My identity is stronger than life or death, than love and inevitable loss, but it’s wrapped up today and tomorrow and forever because I was made in His image and was bought with a price on a hideous cross.

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