oh, what it is to be human:
beautiful, eternal souls -
resilient, brave, loving.
housed in finite bodies -
breakable, fearful, vulnerable.
forever, and ephemeral -
paradox.
what joy we hold,
what sorrow.
how can our hearts carry
this lovely, terrible tangle -
of love, and loneliness;
closeness, and distance;
fullness, and loss;
laughter, and tears;
courage, and terror;
delight, and disgust;
tenderness, and anger;
healing, and trauma;
hope, and grief -
of life, and death?
we are living.
we are dying.
how can we choose
to be, in this space between?
we laugh, and weep;
worry, and rest;
dance, and slump;
fight, and reconcile;
despair, and rejoice;
help, and hurt;
withdraw, and speak;
destroy, and create;
learn, and forget;
hide, and seek;
work, and play;
sleep, and awaken;
move, and pray.
we are alone,
we are together;
we are devastated,
we are redeemed;
we deny,
we accept;
we hold tight,
we let go.
oh, what it is to be human!
we see shimmers of new life,
alongside dark shadows of death.
how shall we walk, and stumble,
on this side of earth?
love, recklessly -
hearts open
to intense sorrow,
to breathtaking joy.
Category: Identity
Thirty
Last night, while doing dishes, I listened to Risen Motherhood, one of my favorite podcasts. The episode turned out to be particularly timely for the eve of my thirtieth birthday in that Laura, one of the hosts, mentioned that she loves growing older because doing so is an opportunity to love Jesus more and become more like him. She finds there is a joy and security that comes in growing in relationship with him in this way, and that this growth and maturity can only be accomplished over time. Emily, the other host, added that loving God and doing great things for him often looks like being faithful in the everyday moments of our lives.
Then this morning, I turned thirty. And I was encouraged by the thoughts Laura and Emily shared on their podcast because, as I reflect on my life thus far as well as on my hopes for this new decade of life, I find that I most want to be faithful and to live a life that matters. The most significant thing I can do with my life is to love Jesus in increasing measure, which will also lead me to more faithfully love those around me. And these things are possible wherever I am, including quarantined with my little family for the indefinite future as the pandemic continues to ravage the globe.
Prior to thinking about the possibilities for meaningful love and growth that exist even now, I was feeling a bit discouraged. As a 1 on the Enneagram, I am constantly seeing ways that I and the world around me could be improved, and I love to dream and plan for the future. But now, in this time of pandemic and quarantine, life feels so uncertain, and so does planning. What will this new decade of my thirties look like? I honestly have no idea, as my illusions of control have been largely shattered. So many things have been stripped away, and I am left with the present—which, I suppose, is all I ever really had. I don’t know what tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year will look like.
Yet here, in the present, I still have a myriad of opportunities to devote myself to what really matters: to loving Jesus more, to becoming more like him, to pointing to him, and to growing in faithfulness in how I love my husband, my boys, and the friends and family in my life. If anything, this drastic restructuring of life as we know it gives me even more opportunities than before to grow in sanctification and maturity, for the testing of faith through trials produces steadfastness and patience, which lead to increasing holiness and even unshakeable joy in the Lord (see James 1:2-4).
This season might not look like what I had expected or even hoped. I’m still afraid of suffering, and often wish I could just make a plan that will “solve” everything. But this season is also precious and meaningful and has eternal significance. I pray that the Holy Spirit will be changing my heart, making me more trusting and open to God’s refining process even when this process is hard. As I now enter into my thirties, I pray too that God will be growing my patience and steadfastness, that he would be maturing me even when refinement comes through suffering, that he would give me the grace I need to be faithful, and that he would be growing me in love for Jesus and those around me until I am ready to someday stand before him and hear that I have indeed been faithful.
In closing, I will include the prayer from Colossians that my husband, who knows and loves me so well, wrote on my birthday card. It has always been one of my favorite prayers, and this is all the more true today as I look ahead to a new decade of growing:
“For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you. We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience.” — Colossians 1:9-11
A Question of Identity
I am now a stay-at-home mom. After much deliberation, my husband and I decided to have me resign from my work as a marriage and family therapist to stay home full-time with my own family. This is a bittersweet step for me. I feel so joyful thinking of what I am moving toward: getting to devote myself fully to being home as a wife and a momma for this season. But I feel genuine loss and sadness over giving up—at least for the time being—work that I find to be deeply meaningful at a practice I genuinely like.
Now I find myself wrestling with the question “Who am I?” in a way that I didn’t when I first became a mom—and I’m rather jarred by the many identity-related questions that I have been feeling seemingly suddenly and simultaneously:
What if I lose sight of who I am, and who others are?
What if I become boring to my husband and don’t have anything to talk to him about apart from our kids?
What if I make my kids into my whole life?
What if I lose my spark and passion now that I am staying at home, and simply become tired?
What if my world becomes small and I lose sight of all perspective?
What if I become lonely?
What if I become consumed by worry?
What if I never even get to talk to any other adults without being interrupted by little ones?
What if I don’t have any complex or intelligent or even coherent thoughts anymore?
What if I rarely have car-rides by myself to listen to podcasts, or consume any noteworthy news, or learn any new skills, or even just to do anything interesting or thought-provoking?
What I begin to measure my worth by how “successful” I am in accomplishing tasks at home and in caring for my boys, and become even more task-oriented, controlling, and perfectionist than ever?
My list of questions big and small could go on and on.
Yet I suppose as I reflect upon these and other questions of identity I realize there is danger in defining my entire being as any one particular part of myself or actions. I have always been prone to pursuing meaning through fulfilling my roles, keeping busy, and striving after accomplishment. Even my career had the danger of being an idol and wasn’t truly a solid way for me to define myself, although I did find it deeply honoring and meaningful to get to walk with others on their respective journeys as part of my work as a therapist. But then again, I also find it deeply honoring and meaningful to be a wife, and a mother, and a daughter, and a sister, and a friend.
These roles—along with many other roles, characteristics, and passions—are a part of who I am, but none should ultimately define me. If my primary identity was in being a therapist—rather than having this be just a part, albeit significant, of who I am—then I have a problem, just like I have a problem if I hinge my whole sense of self and meaning on being a mom, or being a wife, or being orderly or “right”, and so on. Ultimately, I need to find my identity most deeply in Jesus and my relationship with him. These other facets of who I am and what I do and what I care about are significant, but while they make beautiful outgrowths they are a poor foundation upon which to build my life.
Ultimately, only Jesus is a truly sure foundation.
I believe this to be true. Yet I also know that I need time to process my many questions and feelings, and to both grieve and celebrate this transition. So I will choose to trust in Jesus while leaning into the vulnerability and messiness of opening my heart to having so many feelings and questions about this change. I will try to cry when I am sad over my loss while also noticing and rejoicing in the sweet moments I am gaining with those I love. I will be thankful for the time I got to work as a therapist, and I will also be thankful for the time I now have to be with my family. I will try to take time to talk about and reflect upon and feel my experiences.
I hope I can slowly learn anew who I am in Jesus and what it looks like in this new season of my life to have him truly be the foundation upon which I build my identity and from which I draw strength to love and live faithfully—including in, but not limited to, my role as a momma to my precious little boys.