Wondering about identity.
Who am I? Is my identity altered when my circumstances, relationships, roles change? Or am I who I’ve always been?
Who am I now I’m no longer a Vicar? Am I wife, mother, gran, sister, gardener, time waster, sunlover, giver, taker, procrastinator, over-eater, friend?
Well yes …………. and no.
Those things are only part of who I am.
I’m a child of God, created and shaped by the Divine, eternally part of all that has been, all that is and all that ever more shall be.
I’m Susan – the name means ‘pure, white lily’. Would love to be that.
Time to think is awesome. Who am I really? At over 60 years of age, it feels like I’m just beginning to glimpse the person/being/essence of Susan.
it’s fascinating observing the projections I’ve put out there over the years. They all reflect a little of what’s inside; of reality.
Some people call pondering on such things ‘navel gazing’ as if that were a bad thing. But I believe that in knowing myself, I also get a better view of the one who knows me as no other does. Not sure how much closer I am to knowing the real me but pleased I’m in good company.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote this poem while in prison for his resistance efforts in Nazi Germany:
Who Am I?
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a Squire from his country house.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
Freely and friendly and clearly,
As thought it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectations of great events,
Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the Other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
And before myself a contemptible woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army
Fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!
So who are you?