Identity Crisis
Identity Crisis? Not a chance. I would be the one to walk through my house and find a huge arrow written in dust, on my coffee table and labeled, “she went that way.” There is not enough time or space for me to exercise my right to an identity crisis or any other interesting sounding catastrophe. Are you kidding? There are people around continually reminding me, who I am…
For my dear husband, I am a coffee clutch partner. He wants me to join him for coffee about 5 p.m.. He wants to be in the swing, coffee in hand and have me there, too. He may not say a word, he may be playing with his cell phone or even talking on it but, he wants me to be there and is highly insulted if I am not.
For my children, I am transportation for all of their left behind paraphernalia: items, they must have, to avoid being sent to the gallows. I am the family treasurer. I can find gas money where there was none. Actually, my children think that I am all knowing and totally out of touch—simultaneously. How can I locate belts, shoes, orthodontic rubber bands, literature books and the TV remote yet have no clue about life? How is it that the same children who trust me with their children, their dog and their health disregard my advice on just about everything else? How can the ones who believe that I am as old as dirt think I know nothing about living?
For the precious, perfect pictures of God’s infinite creative wisdom called grandchildren, I am a jungle gym, a pitching machine and a chef rolled into one. My grandchildren believe that I was created to entertain them; whether its making up silly songs, reading the 15th book or playing marbles. I am never supposed to get tired, ill or think of giving up at anything. For them, Nana is an infinite source of wisdom. I know everything from where bluebirds go when it rains to whether or not worms burp. It is amazing that their parents are convinced I know almost nothing and they think I know everything.
To My co-workers: I am a sounding board, a whipping post, a true anomaly and prayerfully, a dependable comrade. They chide me, love me, misunderstand me, encourage me and fight alongside me. For them, I am a wearied cheerleader, an unnecessary referee and a foolish dreamer.
To those whom I serve daily; I want to be a source of hope and encouragement. I am a resource, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to tattle to when they have been wronged or when they just want to feel like their words count to someone. I am a deposit for a place to live, a payment on an electric bill, a voice in court, a caring advocate or a thorn in their flesh. I am the one who insists that they dream big, work hard and keep trying. I am the one who avoids their phone calls and tracks them down when they attempt to avoid me. I am a relationship that points them to the only relationship that can take them around this world and into the next.
To my parents, I am a daughter—capable and inept, kind and thoughtless, fun and foolish, helpful and unnecessary, loved and hated; understood and irrelevant. I am a dependable source of love, and comfort.
To my friends and extended family, I am a belly laugh, a listening ear, a caring heart, a willing hand, a believing and understanding soul. I am there.
Even my dogs give me a tag: I am a pat on the head, a yell as I fall headlong over them, I am a grump when they beg, a softie when they are ill and the one who makes sure that someone makes sure they have food and water.
To my Lord: I am a weary servant and a jubilant daughter. I am a refusing runner like Jonah and a defiant, defender like Daniel. I am a graceful dancer and a bumbling idiot. I am haughty and repentant, fearful and bold. I am painfully timid and totally confident. I am a mess most of the time, seen through the eyes of Heaven and explained by the testimony of His Word, without merit of my own. When the crisis, identity or otherwise, comes my way; Whether whispering from the deepest crevice or screaming from a pinnacle, when I am at the top of my game or waving the white flag of surrender; the identity that I treasure above all the others is: “HIS”.