I started this blog at the insistence of a friend. The only rule was honesty. I could write whatever I wanted, call it however I wished, design it however I saw fit, as long as it was honest, as long as it was true. Many of my long-time readers know this. You also know that, from time to time, I’ve made changes to this blog.
The title has remained the same for the past year and a half, although the tagline “my story of living in the midst of glory,” came to be a bit after the blog’s creation. The theme has changed a time or three or five. I’ve added a page or two here, there, explaining the parts of myself that might be harder to understand. I’ve created an identity of a scribbler, mostly faceless, but more honest with all of you than anyone who hasn’t met me through a screen. But even this must change.
Yes, I am a scribbler, a writer, a story-teller. Yes, I can be a bit of a recluse, a hermit, an introvert. I am quiet but quirky. But while those things are my identity, they are not my identity. I am more than the name my parents gave me, more than the name I call myself, more than the color of my skin or the mix of my genes or the number on a scale.
While in Toronto, in the middle of Dundes Square on a Friday night, with music blaring and lights and people and signs telling me everything I should be, everything I need to be, one of the trip leaders looked at me and asked,
“Who are you?”
I gave him a wry smile–there were many ways to answer that question. It was one I had pondered countless times throughout the years, and even many times on this blog. Who was I? Who did I want to be? I gave him the best and simplest answer that I had.
“I am a many-layered person.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. Not because I was lying, but actually much the opposite. If I am going to tell the truth, it is best I keep my eyes averted. If I see the expectation, the hope for a certain answer, I will most certainly twist my words and feed you the lies I think you want to hear.
“Do you want to know who you are at your core?”
I glanced his direction, more curious than anything else. I wondered what he might say, fleetingly considering what he might come up with. But I already knew what he would say. I already knew the truth that I struggled to understand, accept, embrace.
“You are Beloved. All these things you’re struggling with, the pressure you put on yourself and the lies culture and society tell you, all the things that must of us deal with in life–it comes from the fact that we forget this truth. We are each Beloved, and that is a truth that will never change. Nothing can ever take that away.”
We talked for awhile more. I spewed emotion and he waded through it to point out the beauty of who I was. Not who I had made myself to be, not the face I showed the world, not what anyone else called me–but who I was and am and will be, who I was created to be. Beloved. And when I had exhausted my capacity for talking, he left me to consider, to write, to pray. The previous post, “Acceptance,” was penned that night. And during the rest of my time in Toronto, I realized that I had to choose. I could settle for being what I and others made me out to be. Or I could live in the identity I was given.
So, I’m making a choice. The name you see at the top of this blog will have changed. What I end each post with will have changed as well. To tell you more about it will have to wait until my next post. But for now, consider this: Will you be the what others call you, what you call yourself, settling for the paper-mache caricature you’ve created? Or will you Journey as Beloved?
The Beloved Scribbler