Name. Religion. Passports. Hobbies. Majors. Likes. Dislikes. Grades. Age. Culture. Background. Achievements.
If you asked someone who they were, they would probably use a few of the above to try to answer that question. They’re basic things that most of us feel like we understand pretty well. They’re things most people probably find a lot of their identity in, and they’re things a lot of us take pride in to a certain extent.
But if you strip away the superficial answers, what are you left with? When it all comes down to it, what really matters the most about a single person?
Who are you?
…who am I?
When it comes down to it, I am nothing. I am a broken, flawed human living in the midst of billions of other people like me. I am a mere teardrop of a life in a giant, frothing ocean, a cycle of water that keeps moving regardless of what happens to any individual, an enormous body that couldn’t care less when another cell dies and another is born. I am a speck in the unfathomable reaches of our galaxy-filled universe. I am the nameless in a bustling crowd. I am a whisper in a cacophony of chaos and pain.
I am nothing.
It’s fascinating to sit down and watch the busy yet minuscule world of insects. There are so many little bugs, all scuttling around hopelessly, scavenging for food in the great wide world. When they come close to you, it’s so easy to squish them just like that. They’re so tiny, so fragile, so… unimportant. Insignificant.
But what if an almighty giant, a god, came down to love them – and not just that, to know them, to be with them, to even become one of them and die at their hands for them? Such idiotic bugs. They turned against him even when he provided everything, even when he was their everything. Or should have been their everything.
Who are you? Who am I? We’re nothing without God. We’re the insects who constantly turn away from our Maker, the ones who think we can see it all when we’re just little dots on the pavement. We’re the specks who dare to question the most powerful Being in the universe, the very One who created us and breathed life into our lungs.
And yet He has made us children of God. Children of the High King. Little bitty people like us. We have been chosen and loved and redeemed by the Father we betrayed. We are His.
That’s who we are.