Oftentimes our identity associates with those whom we love. A father, a mother, a son, a daughter. Our identity is who we are in regards to someone else.
Lately I have been overwhelmed with this thought that my identity isn’t exactly my own.
They say that we are carefree when we are young, that the world is our oyster. A phrase I never did quite understand, until recently while spending an afternoon on the coast. Wading through tide pools I came across a cliff covered in shells. Granted they did not turn out to be oysters but in fact muscles. Of course curiosity got the best of me and I tried my hardest to pull one off. Many minutes passed by before I was successfully able to rip it from the rock, but I eventually did. This was only half the battle. Countless more minutes passed as I tried to pry the shell open to see what was inside. Unsuccessfully I dropped it and returned to the tide pools. However, later that night as my thoughts kept me from sleep, I recapped what occurred during the day and the shell I had tried so desperately to open. In a matter of seconds, this shell proved to be the insight to what I have been struggling most with.
While the outside of an oyster has endured many weathers and has been worn down on all sides by waves unsurmountable, it holds steadfast to what it carries. A precious pearl.
In a way, this shell is who we are. Pushed to our limits we are are scarred, hurting, battered, and broken. But still we hold steadfast to what we long for. Something innate that tells us to hold on, to keep going, to persevere.
The pearl then is our motivation. It is what gives us hope.
As it turns out, our identity is unprecedented because it is not our own. Our identity lies in the hands of the one who molded us so perfectly.
We were created with this desire to find out who we are….
But to be all that we are, is to be His.