It’s the one question that binds all humanity together. Why am I here?
This sense of “identity” and “purpose” crosses all lines; culture, race, sex, gender, orientation. Exploring this for myself has been fascinating. As I reflect on my life, it seems that I had this unfair expectation on myself to really understand who I was at an early age.
I had my first child when I was no more than a child myself. Parenting at 16 caused me to strive to be the very best I could possibly be. Austin was my world and all choices I made were with him in mind. I look back now, and I can see that I truly was a great little mommy, but I also see that I spent a great deal of effort trying to get the world to believe that, and sadder still, trying to get me to believe it. When shame enters the depth of your soul, it will grip you with all its might and try and keep you there.
I grew up in a home where we learned a lot about God. At the depth of my being I knew He existed, but God felt really big and really far away. And I knew I was suppose to love God, but really I didn’t know how. And I had no idea how knowing who God was would end up being the key to helping me make sense of my past, help me to define my present and the ability to mold my future.
I had often wondered if God was hearing my prayers. Prayers delivered out of a sense of obligation; doing what I was suppose to. But I had never pondered whether I was hearing God. This would be the beginning of the journey to understanding the age old question ‘who am I, what am I’ for myself.
To Be Continued…