I Am Not

Photo by Dina Badamshina on Unsplash

By Andrea Lingle

I AM.

This might be my favorite sentence in the Bible.

Picture Moses standing barefoot on the scorching desert sand on the outskirts of the edge of the greatest civilization in known history, listening to the chattiest plant in the world, and receiving some terrifying news: Moses, you are the one whom I will use to free my people from slavery (to the aforementioned unprecedented world superpower).

Moses was backpedaling, dusty calluses and all.

Moses was not a confident guy, nor had his time in Egypt gone very well. He was basically a mumbling outlaw, guilty of homicide, hiding somewhere off the map, and the voice of God, planted in the desert, was asking him to take on Egypt.

Nope.

I am not a good speaker. I am not a leader. This is not who I am.

I am not who I thought I would be. I was once a prince of Egypt, and I am now guarding someone else’s riches. A ruptured man: no one from no where. I was condemned to die at birth, set adrift from my people and traditions, rescued on a whim by those who had sentenced me to death, and raised as an interloper. My only attempt to rescue my family turned into a bloody disaster.

I am nothing.

From nowhere.

My life is a desert. Who are you to suggest that my life is anything other than a failure?

And the branches said, “I AM.”

The fifth stage of Erikson’s psychosocial stages is Identity vs Identity Confusion. This is the work of the adolescent. Or everyone. The gangly youth must navigate ten or so years of, what feels like, the starting point of nothing less than everything. It is in this stage that the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” begins to be excavated, and, while, ultimately, there are a lot more middle managers than astronauts, for a lot of people, this is a hopeful stage. Who am I still has so many available answers.

But, too many voices are competing for our allegiance. Like and subscribe! Wear our brand! Be one of us! Wave our flag! It is dizzying and confusing. There are so many people out there brandishing identity label makers: athletic, neurodivergent, blue-collar, LGBTQAI+, progressive, lazy, wealthy, performer, native, conservative, BIPOC, introverted, academic, strategic thinker, working-class, white-collar, country, urban, hard-working, immigrant, smart, disabled, messy.

Which of these is who you are?

None of them. You aren’t your sexuality or your Enneagram number. You aren’t your employment. You aren’t even you role in your family. You are. You aren’t your net worth or your productivity level. You aren’t what she says you are. You are. You aren’t what your pictures or your scale say you are. You aren’t what the neighbors think you are. You are.

As life begins to grind our dreams into desperate coffee grounds, a sneaking disappointment begins to creep in. Is this all that I am? An astronaut that never suited up? A ballerina who can’t touch her toes? A sentient rat in a maze of its own making?

Sacred disappointment begins when we realize that we have tried to force ourselves into categories when we are nothing more or less than an emanation of love bursting from the heart of the Creator. And so is everything else. When we look at the star and the whale and the humming bird and see ourselves, we can embrace the joy of the Sacred Disappointment of being part of the whole of creation. Sacred disappointment begins when we realize that we cannot justify ourselves through our expertise or effort. There is no hero’s journey, no grand vocation, no legacy to uphold.

We are the ones who follow the One Who Is and Who Will Be.

That’s it.

That’s all.