Identity Crisis

From the moment of birth, we were placed in a vortex of identity. Baby boys are under the color code of ‘blue’ and baby girls are under the code of ‘pink.’ As they mature, children learn their names and family ties through identification. “I am his son,” the boy says, pointing to his father. The crisis arrives when we suddenly reach adulthood. We are thrust into a time where we must become someone. Our identity then rests with the job we do. Teacher, firemen,  nurse, journalist—the label makes the person. We pity the person who has no identity, who has no high calling, who bears no label. We envy those with a better identity than ours. We find ourselves wishing we were like them, wishing we had their lifestyle, wishing we could change ourselves.

Sometimes my brain races down the path of wishing. I wish I was skinnier. I wish I was prettier. I wish I was more popular. I wish I had more money. I wish I was smarter. I wish I was braver. I wish I was wiser.

As my Bible teacher once said, “Fear is so familiar, but grace is so new.”  “New” feels scary. “New” feels different. “New” seems unattainable.

However, I think it’s time for a new way of thinking.

It’s time for the identity crisis to be solved.

The wishing has to stop.

Both Moses and Jeremiah said, in essence, “O Lord, I wish…” Funny how these men, the “I wishers”, had to get past their excuses. Maybe they were trying to gain God’s sympathy. As we do, we believe if God sees our weaknesses, He will let us off the hook from obeying Him. If we only knew and realized the Power of Christ delights in our weaknesses. We need to grow out of our discontentment and discover the antidote. We must know Christ. We must identify with Him in His death and resurrection.

When I start wishing I was someone else completely, I lose my God focus. I start living in fear. My fear is rooted in my belief system. I do not believe I am a King’s daughter. I do not believe I have the standing before my King to walk with my heads high and my heart cleansed. As God reprograms my thinking, I start to be “ready to be friends with anyone who is friendly and don’t give a fig about anyone else,” as C.S Lewis succinctly stated.

I am not defined by what I do for a living. I am not defined by my hair, my body type, my academic standing, or my amount of money in the bank. God is my definition. I am His—loved by Him. The suicide rate might decline if we believed we were designed by a Creator with intent and purpose. I am not a blanket of nothingness that has randomly come into being. God put me into my mother’s womb and knit me together. I am cherished by Him. He has chosen me to live in relationship with Him and to do His kingdom work. My identity doesn’t come from badges or cards, jobs or opinions, but is securely tucked in the palm of God.

I couldn’t wish for anything more.



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