Sunday, November 10, 2013

Simply Identity

My name is Sheila.  Sometimes I forget who I am amidst this busy, full-of-life place I live.  There are so many people, so many needs, that all of my own stuff gets so intermingled with the world around me and I find myself at a loss as to my own identity.  My identity?  What is that?  What should it be?

What characterizes Sheila?

I can't say what I seem to be, for I am not outside myself (thank goodness!), but I peer out from behind these gifts of God (eyes!) and wonder sometimes if my very Lifeblood shows through.  There is something in me, over me, around me, through me at all times, and I wonder if that is where I put my trust.  Do I put my trust there enough to make it show?  Or do I air my own flesh for the world to see?

My prayer would be that my true Lifeblood, the blood that is crimson and white all at once, would be mine.  Interesting analogy, isn't it?  I mean, I'm a nursing student, and all at once upon writing that last sentence I had this beautiful image of hematocrit.  Last semester we measured our own, and I got to separate out the red stuff from the not-so-red stuff.  Yet even the whitest of my own blood is not white, the cleanest of my own heart is not clean.  Perhaps I stretch the analogy too far, but I wonder - did God not place these hidden things in our world to remind us just how much we need our God?  How much we need our Saviour?

For the white, white blood, the perfect blood, the Life eternal that I have been given, that is how I pray my identity appears to the world around me.  If my identity is anywhere else, who I am can be stripped away, and I can be left bare, less than a skeleton, wishing for what never was me.  It is not the current appearance of my life that ultimately matters, but the direction of my soul, the cry of my heart, the colour of my blood.  Spiritually-speaking, that is.  

Perhaps that is why the wind and the trees have always intrigued me, why the dying world finds them so easy to confuse with Life, and why deceit is so rampant in our world.  Identity is a deceptively simple, complex little thing, but ultimately?  It's in Christ.  At least... it must be if we are to truly see all the colours He has made, the cries of even our own hearts, the deep weepings of a soul whose direction is not God-ward.  Where's yours?


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