As I grow older it seems nothing ever changes. There is a self-conscience
person in all of us who at times questions who we are or who we have become.
For those who do not know, I teach two days a week. I start my week of
teacher in-service tomorrow. I dread this time of the year, but not for the
reasons most would think. It is that dreaded question above. Every year we have
team building activities. This year is no different.
Since we have several new teachers, our director decided we should place
three items in a bag that symbolize who we are. I have agonized over this. I
have had this bag since the second week of July. I have stared at it. I have
picked it up. I have held it. I have even planned out how to decorate the
outside, yet the question seems to loom over me like a dark thunderstorm cloud.
Who am I? I am me so why should this be so hard? Yet it is. Here is my
rationalization.
I am a wife.
I am married to a great man, but often times I don’t feel like somebody’s wife.
I don’t cook homemade dinners or goodies very often. I am in my sweat pants
more than any cute nightie. I don’t stay at home. I am often argumentative. I
am controlling at times. I guess I don’t feel like a wife and often question
how I was ever chosen.
I am a mom.
This one perplexes me the most. Yes, I gave birth to two amazing kids, but
I seriously have felt inadequate since that first moment I held either one of
them. I think that the two of them would have raised themselves with or without
me. They function well on their own for the most part. I feel guilty the
majority of the time about every parental decision I make. I don’t live up to
the Leave It to Beaver kind of mom in any sense. I have missed endless
teachable moments.
I am a Christian.
I do love God and Jesus more than anything, but I find myself continually
striving for approval. I skip my quiet time more days than I can count. I am
often asking for forgiveness. I have been known to gossip. I have been known to
yell or look crossly at some people. I have been known to be angry at God. I
skip church. I can’t fathom the sacrifice.
I am a writer.
This is always funny. I have never felt like a writer. I have been told
since high school that I had a talent for writing. Yet, you should see my
grammar. I don’t consider myself a
writer because my name has not graced the likes of the New York Times best.
So who am I? I remember as a kid I had this vision of who I would be as a
grown-up. I have not lived up to that vision in anyway. That is the point.
Visions and expectations can sometimes not be realistic.
I am a wife. I have a husband who adores me despite all of my inequalities.
I am a mom and that is evident every time my daughter wakes up yelling my
name in the middle of the night.
I am a Christian and no matter how much work I try to do for God, none of
it will ever matter. It won’t matter because God would love me even if I didn’t
do anything.
I am a writer. Even if I am never a best selling author, I have a passion
and a God-given talent that I can’t turn off.
The point isn’t perfection. It is a life long process of learning who I am
and what I can become. It is that self-consciousness that keeps us continually
refining who we are as individuals. What it comes down to is that we are a
child of God who is continually molding us in the child that he wants us to be
on a timeline that is His.
