I do not think I have ever selected a recipe to try without looking at a picture of it first. (If you are a wild, rogue chef in the kitchen then you are much more courageous than I am.)
I want to know what I am making. I prefer the anticipation of what it will taste like, smell like, look like, and even feel like. I can almost imagine that first warm bite before I have measured a single ingredient. The picture shows me the goal, and I try hard to make it match.
There is something reassuring about knowing what I am working toward.
I think most of us approach life in a similar way.
We imagine the relationships we will have, the families we will raise, and the futures we will build. We have a picture in our minds of what life will look like, how it will feel, and what it will mean to us.
We make commitments, take on responsibilities, and invest ourselves in the people and things that matter most, believing that if we follow the right steps, we will arrive at the life we have imagined.
I certainly did.
In my late 20’s, I learned that my body was not going to cooperate with my dreams. Early menopause brought the painful realization that motherhood might never look the way I had hoped.
Still, I believed there were other ways to build the life I wanted. I married, became a stepmom, and poured my heart into the family and future I was committed to.
I believed that if I loved enough, worked hard enough, and remained faithful to my commitments, somehow everything would work out.
But life did not unfold that way.
When my marriage ended, I did not simply lose a relationship. I lost a family, a home, and much of the life I had spent years building.
And somewhere in the middle of all that loss, I found myself asking a question I had not anticipated.
Who am I now?
I had spent so much time understanding myself through the people I loved, the responsibilities I carried, and the future I was working toward that I had not fully considered who I was apart from those things.
Or, perhaps more importantly, truly realized who I was in Christ.
Because there is a difference between the identity we build around our lives and the identity we receive through our relationship with God.
And sometimes it takes losing what we thought defined us to recognize the difference.
What Was: The Identity I Carried
Identity is not something we usually sit down and consciously decide.
More often, it develops gradually through the families we are born into, the relationships we form, the responsibilities we accept, the environment around us, and the expectations we place upon ourselves.
We become wives, mothers, daughters, friends, caregivers, and professionals. We learn where we belong, what others need from us, and how to fulfill the roles we have accepted.
Some of these identities bring us tremendous joy. Others come with expectations we never agreed to carry.
And somewhere along the way, what we do can become inseparable from who we believe we are.
Consider Ruth and Naomi.
Before tragedy entered their story, they were women with husbands, families, and familiar places in the world. But famine, displacement, and death changed everything.
Naomi lost her husband and both of her sons. Ruth lost her husband and eventually left her homeland to accompany Naomi into an uncertain future.
They were no longer living the lives they had once known.
I wonder how many of us can relate to that.
Perhaps your circumstances have not changed as dramatically as theirs, but you have experienced something that altered the way you see yourself.
A relationship ended. A career changed. Your children grew up. Your health shifted. A dream you carried for years became something you had to release.
And suddenly, the identity you had grown so comfortable with no longer seems to fit.
Yet before any of those identities were formed, God already knew us.
Psalm 139:14 reminds us:
"I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well."
Our identity did not begin with the roles we accepted. It began with the God who created us.
What Broke: When Identity Shatters
One of the most revealing moments in Naomi's story occurs when she returns to Bethlehem.
The women of the city recognize her and ask, "Is this Naomi?"
Her response is heartbreaking.
"And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me Mara: for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me." — Ruth 1:20, KJV
Naomi, whose name is associated with pleasantness, wanted to be called Mara, meaning bitter.
Her circumstances had changed so dramatically that her own name no longer seemed to describe who she was.
I understand something of that feeling.
When we invest our hearts into relationships, the loss can reach far beyond the absence of another person.
We remember everything we gave. Every sacrifice. Every commitment. Every time we chose to keep going because we believed what we were building mattered.
And when it all falls apart, we can begin to question whether we mattered at all. What was wrong with me? Why was my love not enough? Was I not worth staying for?
The danger is that we begin identifying ourselves with what happened to us. We were rejected, so we believe we are unwanted. We experienced failure, so we believe we are failures. We lost something precious, so we begin to believe we have lost our value.
Someone spoke something awful, or did something awful, to us. And now we feel like maybe we really are some awful thing.
But there is a difference between grieving what happened and allowing that experience to determine who we are.
Naomi's grief was real. Her losses were devastating. Scripture does not ask us to pretend otherwise.
And neither should we.
We can acknowledge the pain of our experiences without accepting every conclusion that pain invites us to believe.
What happened to us may have changed our lives, but it does not have the authority to determine our worth. ß (If you like to journal, write that one down).
What Is True: Discovering My Identity in Christ
I have often wondered how differently we might approach relationships if we first understood who we are in Christ. Would we be less afraid of rejection? Would we recognize when our desire to be loved is leading us to compromise something important? Would we understand that our worth is not measured by how much of ourselves we are willing to give away?
Knowing our identity does not mean we stop pursuing love or give up on our dreams. Christ Himself is our greatest example of sacrificial love. Jeremiah tells us that His thoughts towards us are good and that He knows the plans He has for us.
Therefore, I believe knowing our identity changes the foundation from which we love.
Scripture offers several beautiful pictures of our identity.
Genesis 1:27 tells us we were created in the image of God. Before we accomplished anything, entered a relationship, or earned anyone's approval, our lives possessed dignity because of the One who created us.
Ephesians 2:10 tells us:
"For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them."
Think about that.
We are His workmanship.
Not the discarded pieces of someone else's disappointment. Not a collection of failures, regrets, or broken expectations.
His workmanship. We are God’s idea, His treasure. We are what He created.
And through Christ, Scripture gives us an even deeper understanding of belonging.
We are described as branches connected to the vine (John 15:5), heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:16–17), and members of the church, which Scripture describes as the bride of Christ (Ephesians 5:25–27).
Galatians 3:27 declares:
"For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ."
There is something profound about taking on the name of Jesus in baptism and understanding that our relationship with Him is not dependent on the earthly titles we carry. In that moment I am not considering myself as a stepmom, daughter, or friend. I am now made something brand new in Christ, covered by His name, and now become a part of His family. In baptism, I have a brand spanking new identity. (This is why baptism in the name of Jesus Christ is so important. We are putting on the name. Not his titles, not what roles he occupied, but His actual name now belongs to us. Whew, that’s exciting! Read Romans 8:6-17 again. Then move on to Acts 2:38 and Galatians 3:27. Don’t skip this part!)
We may experience changes in our lives, families, responsibilities, and relationships, but our belonging to Christ is rooted in something far greater.
And perhaps this is where we begin to challenge what we have quietly accepted.
We might have been told that we are
Not enough.
Unwanted.
Unworthy.
Too much.
Unlovable.
Are these things God has said about us, or conclusions we have drawn from painful experiences?
Not everything we have come to believe about ourselves is true.
And not every accusation we have carried is ours to keep.
What Is Becoming: Learning to Live From My Identity
One of the things that stands out to me about Ruth's story is that just like us, she did not have the benefit of knowing how everything would turn out.
When she chose to accompany her mother-in-law, Naomi, she was not following a carefully planned future with a guaranteed outcome.
She was simply choosing faithfulness in the middle of uncertainty.
She went to Bethlehem. She worked in the fields, gathering what she could to provide for herself and Naomi. She continued taking the next step available to her.
And as the story unfolds, we see provision, kindness, and redemption woven into the ordinary details of her life.
I think there is something important for us here.
Knowing who we are in Christ does not mean we suddenly have every answer about where our lives are going.
It does not guarantee that relationships won't fail, that our circumstances won't change, or that we will never find ourselves grieving something we deeply loved.
But it does change how we move forward.
When I understand that I belong to Christ, and that my identity is complete in Him, I do not have to spend my life trying to prove that I am worthy of love.
I can establish healthy boundaries without believing that doing so makes me selfish.
I can love others without making their acceptance the foundation of my identity.
I can recognize that my responsibilities may change while my worth remains intact.
And I can continue growing without feeling obligated to become the person I once imagined I would be.
Romans 12:2 speaks of being transformed by the renewing of our minds.
I believe part of that transformation involves learning to recognize the difference between what our experiences have taught us to believe and what God's Word says is true. It is the transformation of learning the truth and embracing God’s plan and will for us.
We step into the realization of who God is (His identity) and who He created us to be (our true identity). We continue to seek Him, through prayer, reflection, obedience, and the everyday decisions we make as we learn to trust Him. And He continues to build our understanding and our faith.
We may not return to the people we once were.
And perhaps we are not meant to.
We embrace our identity in Christ as daughters of the Most high King, as heirs of the promise, and as citizens of heaven.
Ephesians 2:19 — "Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God."
Who Am I Now?
I still love having a picture of what I'm working toward. Something about my personality likes making plans, preparing for what is ahead, and imagining how the pieces will come together.
But life has taught me that I can do everything I know to do and still encounter an outcome I never anticipated. When that happens, I need something more enduring to cling to. In those moments, I need to remember who created me, who knows me, and whose I am.
I do not believe discovering our identity in Christ means denying the people we have been or the experiences that have shaped us. Those relationships mattered. Those commitments mattered. The love we gave mattered.
But those chapters of our lives were never meant to carry the entire weight of our identity.
Much like a flower growing from the soil, our experiences have shaped us in ways we may not fully understand. Some seasons have been fruitful, while others have been difficult and painful. Yet through them all, God continues His work in us, strengthening our roots and teaching us to grow toward Him. We are not simply the sum of what has happened to us. We are still His workmanship, and He is not finished with us yet.
In 1 John 3:2, we read:
"Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.”
I find comfort in the thought that He is continually shaping and pruning me, showing me who and what He has purposed for me to be.
We can hold on to the thought that even while we are learning, changing, and discovering what comes next, there is something already established in our relationship with Him.
We belong to God. We carry His name.
Our circumstances may have shifted, but His love has not changed.
Perhaps the question is not simply, Who am I now?
Perhaps it is also, Lord, who have You been calling me to become?
And maybe we do not need to see the finished picture before we trust Him with what comes next.
Because the hope of His promise is beautiful enough to sustain us.
A Gentle Moment of Reflection
As you consider your own journey, I invite you to think about these questions:
- What roles or relationships have most influenced the way you see yourself?
- Have you ever allowed a painful experience to change what you believe about yourself?
- What does Scripture say about your identity that you may be struggling to believe?
- How might your everyday life change if you began living from the truth of who you are in Christ?
Let's begin the conversation.
Has a season of change ever caused you to question who you are? What have you been learning about yourself and your relationship with God along the way?
You're welcome to share your thoughts in the comments. Your story may encourage another woman who is finding her way through a season she never expected.
Be well, friends.
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