I was lying in bed last night, wide awake and talking to God. Sometimes when things get busy, I find myself craving this time when my little corner of the world is tucked into bed and things are quiet. When it’s just God and me.
I found myself asking Him, as I see new things on the horizon and I want to prepare and plan for them, who am I supposed to be in all of this?
Ugh. Why do I always want to label myself? I mean, I’ve been asking God since I can remember, “Who am I exactly and what am I supposed to do with my life?” I want a name, or a title, or a clue! I can look back over the years and see the self-made labels I stuck to my life:
A student in high school. Not athletic or super smart. What’s next?
A dishwasher dreaming of writing, a waitress waiting to take off, a college student learning the ropes of life (ha! Maybe a tiny thread on one of the ropes), an assembler in a factory, a poet selling personalized poems. Now what?
A writer of short Christmas stories and newspaper articles, a press operator in the same factory, a renter of a small apartment, a momma to a fur baby. What now?
A wife and a stepmom, a daughter, granddaughter, sister, and aunt. Thank you, Lord.
Moving right along…a stay-at-home mom, a grandma, a blogger, and a writer who has finally finished a novel. A gluten-free, dairy-free girl. But now what? I see more coming, Lord. What should I call myself? Will I fit into one of those neat categories? Some of those are kind of scary, You know.
It’s like I’m trying to peek into the back door of God’s plan, trying to figure out what’s inside the house before He will let me in. Or maybe I’m just the little girl standing on tippy-toes, elbowing my way up to the open window and sniffing chocolate chip cookies in the air, whining about how long I have to wait to have some.
Maybe I’m always begging God for a label because I find comfort in having one, so I will have a neat and tidy answer when someone asks me about me. Perhaps I find stability in an easy explanation instead of (-gulp-) finding my security and worth in the One who created me and is still molding me and forming me like clay in His mighty hands. Forgive me, Lord.
Are you here with me, peeking through the back door or wiggling up to the window to see what’s next and whimpering about the wait? Do you have a need to label yourself, to fit in somewhere, to find purpose in having a clear-cut direction?
My friend, I learned a great truth last night while the house was still: You and I already have a label. A God-given label. We don’t need to hunt and search for it. We don’t have to ask our family or friends or trusted mentor what we should call ourselves. We don’t need to take comfort or find security in a worldly label, in a position of power or pride with a title to match. We have a label God placed on our hearts the day we accepted His Son, Jesus Christ, as our Savior. It’s the label our Heavenly Father carefully, lovingly, and jealously placed there that will stick forever:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!” (Isaiah 43:1b NASB.)