So I’ve been dissatisfied with my job for, oh, pretty much the entire 16 months I’ve had it. I’ve tried to make it more interesting (read: busy), but no such luck. I’m doing project work with regular backups on mail and phones. That’s it. Oh, and a suggested to-do of single-handedly purging the shared drive. Um…no. Not without a task force and complete supervisor and managerial approval. I already went through that at the City. “Who moved my cheese?” No thanks.
I spent time on the treadmill today because the weather demanded a snorkel and a wetsuit. Plus it was dark. Already cold from my sopping ball romp with Dakota, I didn’t want to get any colder. I set the treadmill and put some steps in.
I started singing. Not much, because it’s early morning and nobody wants to be awakened that way. But because I realized something. I’ve been getting a lot of compliments lately on something I do regularly. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong. Keep ’em coming; I’m a words of affirmation gal, after all. But that’s not who I am. I have opportunities to do lots of cool things based on gifts God’s given me, things I’ve practiced and nurtured and things I’ve just put out there.
But those things aren’t ME.
It’s taken me awhile to come to this realization. I’ve had to be stripped down to a semblance of bare bones to find it. I don’t write like I used to – or should. I’m not baking as much. Not running, really. Don’t have much free time to meet with friends and hear their hearts.
But those things were never me, anyway.
We have been singing a song at church called “Who You Say I Am”.
I included it my list this past Sunday. No, I don’t sound like the recording. But that’s okay. Mercifully, there’s a measure of grace in worship that’s not present while performing in a secular realm. But the words. “I am who you say I am…You are for me, not against me…”
So who am I? I’m a wife, a mother, a daughter. I’m a worshiper. I’m a writer and a recovering runner. I’m an employee of Thurston County and part of a union. I’m an American. I’m a full-grown woman, despite evidence to the contrary.
More than that, I’m His. My identity is hidden in Christ. I belong to Jesus and have for more than 3 decades. Having a different job won’t improve that. Running 3 times a week, though magical, won’t make me a better Christian, only improve my cardiovascular capacity. Writing makes me feel connected to God and others…but if I never write another word, He still loves me. He always will.
And that’s who I am. Loved. Forgiven. Freed. Blessed.