Who Am I?

Do ever just have times in your life where you question who you really are? What does the world say about you? What do people describe you as or think when you walk up to them? What are you good at and what should you really never try again? Who are you, really?

My identity used to be something I was sure of. I was the principles granddaughter, the doctors daughter, the tough-take-no-crap girl, the basketball player, the 1000 point basketball player, one of the top in the class, the adventurer. I was THE Rebekah Douglas. My name was famous. Both for who I was related to and who I was. And that was exactly where I placed everything I was on. All of these things were me. But fast forward to 3 and a half years later and I can’t find myself amongst the labels. My precious, life-giving labels.

College basketball and depression rocked my world. Suddenly, I wasn’t the best. No one cared about who I was because of my name. Depression caused my grades to plummet, my confidence to bottom out, and my relationships to suffer. Everything I found my meaning in was pulled out from underneath me and I was left scrambling for something to hold onto. Except there was nothing. I found nothing solid enough to hold my weight, my baggage, and all the other things that came with me. I had no idea who I was.

These past few weeks have been a repeat of that very first rug-pulling incident. I have questioned, flailed, grabbed for, and searched for who I am. I don’t play basketball anymore. My grades are not that great. A lot of my old relationships have failed. People still don’t care about my last name. I can’t play the guitar that’s gathering dust in the corner of my room. The paintings on my wall are messy, totally not center, and are far from impressive. My singing could use some work. My body isn’t in the perfect condition that it used to be.

Who in the world am I?

Last night though, I’d finally had enough. So I went straight to the Guy who knew. I mean, He created me so that means He should know who I am. Thankfully, I was right. God told me exactly who I am. It wasn’t anything complex, or impressive to the world around me. But it quieted my very loud mind as soon as His words reached my heart.

“You are mine, Rebekah. You are my daughter. I chose you, I created you, I know you better than you know yourself. You are wonderfully made and I love you more than you can imagine. So much so, that I sent my only Son to die for you. You are mine, forever.”

Talk about a sigh of relief. I had been chasing what the world told me to be. I was concerned with what the created thought of me instead of what the Creator thought of me. Yes, I am still the doctors daughter. I’m still the basketball player and the take-no-crap girl. But that’s not what makes me, me. What makes me who I am is who created who I am. God. Now the question, “Who am I?”, seems so easy.

I am His.