Our Real Identity

If I’m being honest – this is kind of a hard confession.

In fact, this whole blog post? Consider it as being written from the middle. It’s not wrapped up in a neat little bow. There is no, “And that’s how I finally put that struggle to bed,” type moral. This is very much written from the thick of the mess.

So – here we go.

When I turned 28, I felt like my entire body changed. All of the sudden my metabolism slowed, I couldn’t eat whatever I wanted, and on some days, I didn’t recognize the girl standing in the mirror.

You see for most of my life, I’d been the tall and lanky girl. At 5’11’ and always ridiculously active, my weight struggled to catch up to my height. As a Division I athlete, I was routinely told by doctors that I was perfectly healthy but could stand to gain a few pounds as my BMI was on the lower end… and secretly I took pride in this. (Ouch, that hurt to type.)

When 28 hit and I was no longer tall and lanky but tall and proportionate, I had a hard time feeling like myself. When my arms and face started to fill out, I stopped liking how I looked in pictures. When my pant size went up one or two numbers, I felt like I was suddenly losing control.

I even have a vivid memory of going into our guest closet and pulling out one of my favorite dresses as I was getting ready to go to one of our friend’s weddings. I had my entire look picked out in my mind and it all revolved around this one navy dress.

When I asked Tyler to zip it up? He couldn’t.

I turned around and looked in the mirror only to see a six-inch, flesh-colored gap between the gold zipper teeth that edged the two navy panels.

Cue the instant tears. Like a lot of them.

You see – the truth is, without even knowing it and without consciously working to put any stock in my size – my identity was more or less wrapped up in it for 28-years. So, naturally, when my size changed, my identity was in question. And when my identity was in question, I was one giant ball of insecurity.

But here’s the honest to God truth – and one I preach to myself day in and day out:

Our true identity is both fixed and absolute. Our true identity is not made, but deemed. Our true identity does not change.

Our relationship statuses change.

Our jobs change.

Our feelings change.

Our bodies change.

Our health changes.

Our finances change.

But as God’s creation, we are loved by Him. Permanently. Forever. Without reservation, without hesitation and without revocation, we are extravagantly loved by God. This is the only thing that will never ever change.

This is the truest thing about us. This is our real identity.

Yet continually, we (this girl so painfully obviously included!) look for our worth in things and accolades and job titles and pant sizes. If I am honest, I misplace my identity multiple times a day — and if I’m not careful and I wade in the detour too much — it can affect my attitude toward others and toward God.

It makes sense doesn’t it? The way we feel empty, disappointed, and grossly discouraged when our misplaced identities change. When we put all of our eggs in a basket that was never meant to define us, we’re quickly reminded of our need for Christ’s resurrection to do the defining.

The solution is as straight-forward as it is hard to execute — let the secure position we have in Christ define us.

This means being content in who we are because of Whose we are. This means knowing that our size and weight and relationship status and job and health all may change — but our worth will never waver. This means establishing our value as a ransomed daughter of the King and never forgetting the depths to which Jesus went just to give you that title.

It’s hard, but it’s simple.

It’s expensive, but it’s worth it.

We are His. And that is all that could ever define us.

Amen?