Me

One of the little persistent griefs of all this pain: I don't even want what I want.

Loss of identity, me-ness.

Jesus-In-Me-and-New-Creation-Me wants to do such-and-such.

But I don’t want to.

Fatigue fogs fancy.

Pain impedes passion.

Ache axes aspiration.

Exhaustion engulfs identity.  

I don't even want what I want.

Who is me?
A stabbing pain, a dagger question, a daily rub that chafes.

And you? A grief that has paralyzed you, taken part of your heart away. Who are you?
Finances that have left you more unstable, unable to pursue the dreams you had, be the father/mother-provider you dreamed of that had been a part of your who-I-will-be-when-I-grow-up identity. A difficult marriage that tears you down. Unemployment that makes you wonder, "Am I good enough for this job? Is this what I want? Is this who I am, who I was created to be?"
Who is me?
Lost in questions and fog and pain.

But

As I write I read from Joni Eareckson Tada:

“Please know that when I take up my cross every day I am not talking about my wheelchair. My wheelchair is not my cross to bear. Neither is your cane or walker your cross. Neither is your dead-end job or your irksome in-laws. Your cross to bear is not your migraine headaches, not your sinus infection, not your stiff joints. That is not your cross to bear. My cross is not my wheelchair; it is my attitude. Your cross is your attitude about your dead-end job and your in-laws. It is your attitude about your aches and pains. Any complaints, any grumblings, any disputings or murmurings, any anxieties, any worries, any resentments or anything that hints of a raging torrent of bitterness—these are the things God calls me to die to daily.” (1)

Our cross. It could be an attitude of “I need to save the world.” The enabling and co-dependency that gives purpose and thrills. It could be an attitude of "I prove myself through what I do." It could be an attitude of wanting to stay home and sit in self-pity. It could be self-protection. It could be fear of not doing such and such because "I can’t perform as well as I would like and they might judge me." Attitudes and motives as diverse as you and I.

Oh, the slippery slitherings of the sly serpent.

Oh, the ferocious various vanities of flesh.

Doing or not doing, going or not going can be secondary.

Jesus looks at me.

Jesus looks at heart.

He wants me, confused me.

But

Death leads to life.

The loss of identity

Leads to a greater sense of self in becoming.

Tada continues,

“For when I do [daily die to self], I not only become like him in his death (that is, taking up my cross and dying to the sin that he died for on his cross), but the power of the resurrection  puts  to  death  any  doubts,  fears,  grumblings,  and  disputings. And I get to become like him in his life. I get to experience the intimate fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, the sweetness and the preciousness of the Savior. I become holy as he is holy. O God, ‘you will make me full of gladness with your presence’ (Acts 2:28). And to be in God’s presence is to be holy. Not to be sinless, but to sin less. To let suffering sandblast you to the core, revealing the stuff of which you are made.”(2)

You and I are bigger—

                Bigger than our momentary identity crisis

                Bigger than our grief

                Bigger than our aches and passions and wants

                Bigger than our activities, what we do or don’t do

Because we have an infinite God who has claimed us, called us

An infinite God who dwells in us.

What does suffering reveal when it sandblasts us to the core and reveals the stuff we are made of? It reveals Christ is us, Christ’s power in us, Christ’s fellowship with us. The infinite Immanuel. That is why Paul could boast in his weakness. Because Christ, the infinite Immanuel, and his mighty power was Paul living his life by faith in the Son of God who loved him and gave himself for him. For it was no longer Paul who lived, but Christ who lived in Paul and Paul who lived in Christ.

This is me.

This is you.

This is our God.

We have a firmer identity in Christ when all is stripped away.
We know him as our life.
We let him define us instead of the entrappings and the moments and the losses and successes.
And he is renewing us even in that very loss
in a far greater ME, the real me being renewed in the image of the Creator who I was created in (Col. 3:10).
This is me.
This is you.
This is our God.

NOTES

(1) Joni Eareckson Tada, “Hope…the Best of Things,” in John Piper and Justin Taylor, eds., Suffering and the Sovereignty of God, pp. 191-204 (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books), 196.

(2) Ibid.