Uncovering Identity in Life’s Transitions

Who are you in your life?

Three years ago, as we sank into the middle of the pandemic, I read a book by journalist Bruce Fieler called Transitions: Mastering Change at Any Age. Fieler knows the pressure of times of change.

Following a bout with a rare form of cancer, he wanted to discover what people did when faced with life changes. His team developed a method of interviewing people from all walks of life to tell their life stories. The life stories asked a question of those whose lives had changed (which includes all of us).

Each one demanded people realize the life they had was not the life they would have. Now that my life has shifted, “What do I do now? How do I rebuild the life I now have?” He told one about a man whose face was blown apart in Afghanistan. He could no longer eat spicy foods but decided to take up cooking.

Buried in these stories is something we all must answer. Who am I? What is my identity?

Mark Twain observed, “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born, and the day you find out why.” Your birth certificate tells you the first one. But you have to sift your soul to find the second.

We spend a lifetime building our identities around shifting ground. But what are you now? We are a wife or a husband until one of you dies. Do you say, “I was?”

I am independent until forced into a hospital bed, a walker, or a wheelchair. Who are you going to be now?

I am an accountant, a lawyer, or a preacher. But life upends that. Industries disappear, and pink slips show up in mailboxes. Retirement arrives, and the company paints a new name on the office door and website. Who are you going to be now?

When we stop doing what we are doing now, who will we be now? How do you fill in the blank?

I imagine it happened to Moses. Who are you, Moses?

For the first third of his life, he was “the son of Pharaoh.” That lasted until a clandestine killing of a harsh taskmaster forced him to flee. When he stopped being the “son of Pharaoh.” Who, then, was he?

He answered the second third of his life with “just a shepherd in the wilderness.” I suspect he was in the form of his wilderness, wondering what had happened to him. He grew settled and comfortable.

Until he saw a bush with green leaves aflame. The leaves did not curl into blackened ash as the fire danced on the branches. Then the voice of God asked him, “what are you going to do, Moses?”

God had a mission. It was not shepherd or prince. It did not depend on relation to another human being. Titles or tasks didn’t define it. God told him, “I want you to be my mouth.” Go to Pharaoh and speak. Stand on Sinai, and I will tell you what to say to my people.

Moses is not significant for the first 80 years but for the last 40. He was no longer chained to earthly aims but to the eternal.

If you find what God wants you to be, you don’t have to worry about what men want you to be.

All go through life’s transitions. A preschooler finds he has to sit still and learn when he gets to kindergarten. When the tassel changes sides at high school graduations, the “what next” question gets serious. After more education or training, we find ourselves in a job where we ask, “is this what I am?” You have children, but they leave you with an empty nest. Used calendars pile up until it is time to retire. What now? Then, the body degrades, and you must leave the home where you raised your kids, and where you thought you would live the rest of your life. Your new home is a “facility.” What are you now?

Don’t let life’s circumstances define your life because they distort, warp, and fail you.

It pays to think of it while we remain on earth. When you stand before God, what will the answer be to the “who are you?” The answer will be your eternity.