Giving Thanks for Who I Am

It’s one of those busy days in the shop. I have lots to do and just when I get focused something draws me away. A phone call here, a request for help there, an email to send, facebook posts to make. My to do list is all over the board, and so am I. That’s when she jokingly says, “I see where your son may get some of his attention deficit from.”

This one haunts me for a few days. Is it true? Because there are days recently when it is hard to concentrate. Do I have a problem I haven’t noticed before? Is it something I should work on? 

My gut reaction was to defend myself, to come up with a mirad of excuses. I considered what to do so others wouldn’t see this in me. Sort of a self help appoach because honestly, I am concerned about how others see me.

As I dove deeper and appoached God with my dilemma, I recognized the beginning of an identity crisis coming on. Is this who I am? How can I change it? Why in the world am I still thinking about this? Lord, what do you think? Can you give me some insight here? 

Identity is a funny thing. You think you know who you are until something comes along and makes you wonder.

I watch the news and hear talk of stolen identities. An entertainment clip features a young person claiming a new identity with words I’ve never heard. Everywhere I look I notice talk of changing identities as if it is a simple matter of outward appearance or vocabulary. For me it is not that simple. Every age and stage of life offers me an opportunity to consider who I am. What names or titles I will discard or keep.

It’s taken me years to arrive at a place where I am able to wade through all the world’s input and embrace who God made me to be. I won’t deny some of who I am still needs transforming, but experience tells me I can’t muscle my way into authentic change. No, transformation comes when I let go of attempting to change or hide my flaws, and draw closer to the One who transforms from the inside out.

I send the happy birthday text, and her reply brings a smile to my face. She is the first to give me this part of who I am. The first to call me, “Aunt Stac.” A name I am grateful to embrace, and a reminder to let go of all the things in need of changing.


A reminder to give thanks.

Thanks for the three who call me mom, the two who call me daughter, and the one who calls me sis. For the husband who calls me babe, and eight who call me Aunt Stac.

Most importantly I give thanks to the One who sees my need for transformation, and still calls me enough.


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