It’s still June.  You’d have to be living under a rock at the depths of the Mariana Trench to not know about Pride month, which in essence is an entire month dedicated to identity.  While I have plenty of opinions on the merits or lack thereof regarding an entire 30 days dedicated to the discussion of orientation, I’m more drawn to the idea, the concept, the value of identity and its implications on our individual lives.

Several years ago, I pondered the impact of a name.  When something inanimate, or even a typically mundane creature gains a name, the level of importance, value, and dignity changes.  A dentist hunted a lion.  No one cared.  But that lion had a name: Cecil. And suddenly he wasn’t just a feline anymore.  His death subsequently gained worldwide attention when before we’d be hard-pressed to think of any other time a lion was hunted became noteworthy.  A law in Colorado is referred to as the Samson Law because an archery hunter killed an elk.  Not just any elk, an elk named Samson.  I ruminated on the idea of abortions and what their prevalence would be if we first called the “clump of cells” Rebecca, Stephen, Megan, Quinton, or Sarah.  Would we toss their small bodies in trash cans if they had names?  I’m not certain we’d be so cavalier about the procedure if we named the “fetus” before executing them.

What is the value of a name?  If you have kids, think about how difficult it was to name them.  How many names did you discredit because of negative experiences associated with a person bearing that same name?  In many cultures, names are given or changed later in life to further describe the character or calling on the individual.  Simon became Peter.  Saul was renamed Paul.  Here in Thailand, people are often given names but later given nicknames that help define who they are.  A translator I knew was nicknamed Shopping because after a rather abusive and demoralizing encounter with his father, his mother took the young boy to a mall where the big letters SHOPPING were displayed above and whispered in his ear, “Someday you will be as big as that mall.”  She was trying to keep Shopping from identifying himself as the victim of abuse and to call him to rise above it into something great.

Our names convey identity.  We all want to be known.  We’re in a constant state of tension between wanting to stand out and yet not be alone.  We want to belong.  We carry the burdens of past labels: whether someone had spoken them aloud or they were descriptions we placed on ourselves.  We’re in a never-ending battle to overcome those false identities.  Do we believe we’re stupid, incompetent, ugly, childish, insignificant, or afraid?  Where do those identities come from?  Why do we think those thoughts and believe those identities?  Are they even identities in the first place?  Have we elevated a lie and given it authority to define us?

It seems so many self-imposed identities are not identities at all.  We drop a plate and suddenly we’re clumsy as if we’ve never been able to carry a single object without breaking it before.  We make a mistake in a 4^thgrade spelling bee and suddenly we identify as stupid.  Our bodies haven’t grown at the same rate as our peers so we believe we’re ugly, gangly, and unworthy.  It’s remarkable really.  Honestly, it’s so easy to see how others live their identity lies yet we’re blinded to seeing our own.

What if we had a given name?  Not just a name our parents may or may not have labored in vain over.  But a true identity given to us by the One who actually formed us?  Is it possible that He who knows the hairs on our head cares about speaking our true name?  The Great God of the universe, the One who SPOKE everything into existence.  The One who devised the greatest caper of all ages to rescue those who could do absolutely nothing for Him by sacrificing himself on a Roman cross.   That God, who took on flesh, walked this earth, dined with friends, laughed, cried, and told stories, is the God who speaks and calls us by name.  Not the name on our birth certificate, but our real name.  The name that conveys our true identity, the one He crafted.

What if we knew THAT name?  What if we lived THAT identity?  I asked myself those questions and honestly, the implications of the answers fired me up.  If our great God who sent His only Son to lavish abundant grace on us calls me by name, why don’t I know it?  Why can’t I hear it?  It seems like a cruel joke.  But then, what if I could hear it?  What if I discovered and knew my given name?  What if the God who speaks calls me by name and I actually hear it?  What then?  The excitement was powerful.

I believe we all crave an identity.  Everyone.  All of us.  We desire to be known.  We know we aren’t just another fish in the ocean, a zebra among a pack of stripes or bird in an indistinguishable flock.  We’re more than that and deep down, we know it.  But where does our identity come from?  From ourselves?  Are we sifting through personality profiles, feelings, and experiences?  Are we trying to find our individual identity by placing ourselves into various groups, classes, orientations, clubs, and races?  Or, is there a way to actually push through the noise, the junk, the lies, the hurt, shame, and chaos to find our true selves?  If the God who created you as you and me as me, did so on purpose—with all our nuances, quirks, shapes, sizes, colors, and hair patterns the way He saw fit—is it too much of a stretch to think He actually has a name specifically for you?  An identity?  A real, authentic, and individually chosen identity?

I know mine.  I just discovered it a few weeks ago.  God didn’t just now give me a new name. It’s the name he gave me when He created me. It has always been there but now, I was given the tools to reveal it with intention.  This discovery has transformed me.  The transformation is not the same as going one way and now going another.  Rather, it’s more like an expansion.  Forgive me for the reference as it’s been years since I’ve seen the movie but maybe the experience is like Jim Carrey’s character in the Truman Show.  His world was real inside that dome, but that wasn’t the real world.  When he finally discovered there was more than what he’d always believed to be his whole world, things changed.  He saw differently.  He needed to see who he really was.  But unlike a fictitious character in a marginally humorous movie, I have seen the lies, broken free, and found my true identity.  I didn’t create my identity and it isn’t the one I would have chosen for myself. But it’s mine.  Spoken to the deep crevices of my heart by the God who speaks.

I’ve been going to church all my life.  I’ve heard all about having a “personal walk with Jesus.”  I know about “praying without ceasing,” and “Love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul and strength.”  I’ve been taught to read my Bible daily and pray so I can be close to Him.  But I’ve never understood it the way I understand it now. 

Maybe our lives are disconnected, lacking purpose, blown around, and shallow because we haven’t been taught how to be known by the one who knows and made us.  Doesn’t it stand to reason that if you can truly know God and experience being fully known, just maybe some power or entity who detests God would want to prevent that heavenly orchestrated relationship from flourishing?  The same evil that rejoiced when Jesus died on that cross is the same evil who got his teeth kicked in three days later when the tomb was empty.  If the Father of Lies comes to steal, kill, and destroy, what makes you think you’re not on his list of targets?  Why wouldn’t he make you believe a lie and draw up an identity for yourself through your own power?  The last thing he wants is for you to be known by the One who created you.

If any of this pings deep down within you, I’d offer a book recommendation that guided my transformation:

Click here to purchase “Living Fearless” by Jamie Winship.

This is not a casual read but it isn’t some scholarly read for doctoral candidates either.  Read it cover to cover over a dedicated course of a few days. Make the time to get away.  Turn off your phone.  Grab a notebook and a pen.  Eliminate the distractions.  When you’re done, I’d love to hear your name, that true identity given by the One who speaks.

Let’s lay down our old chains and pick up our new names.

(The title photo is just a beautiful photo I took on the beach in Penang, Malaysia where I read Jamie’s book and uncovered my identity.)