When I set up this blog over a year ago, I created a profile and listed many of the hats I wear. At the time, I thought it was a pretty accurate representation of who I am, but now I’m not so certain... Sure, I’m a mother/daughter/ sister/aunt/friend, among other things, but that’s who I am to other people. Who am I in the grander scheme of things? Who am I to myself? Who am I to the One who created me??
In an ironic twist of time, my youngest child graduated from high school in May, and last weekend I attended my 30th
high school class reunion. I had a good time, but I was struck by how predictable the interactions were between my former classmates. A lot of us had been to prior reunions, but some of us hadn’t seen each other in 30 years. Either way, the conversation inevitably went something like this: “So, where are you now? What are you doing? Married? And what about kids?”
Is that really all there is to us? I love
where I have lived for the past 25 years, but there’s a whole lot of world out there that I haven't experienced yet. Shouldn’t I always be ready to pick up and go wherever God calls me to go (except maybe Africa)?
I will always love being a parent, and I hope Ben and Hannah know deep in their hearts that I’ll always be there for them. But a mother’s job description is constantly changing and, as any really good mother knows, if she's doing it right, she's working herself out of a job. With both of my children in college this fall, my parenting self will be taking a step into the background, leaving room for a new facet of my personality to catch the light.
And at the age of 48, I am comfortable (excited, even) saying, “I am a writer.” I graduated from
Radford University with a degree in Journalism, and have always used some elements of my college training in my career. But it’s only in the past three years, working as an advertising and public relations copywriter, that I’ve been able to earn a paycheck doing what my diploma says I can do: write. Freelance writing and creative writing like this are the icing on the cake.
The fact is, it's easier to identify who we are during some seasons of our lives than others. And in retrospect, there is no pat answer to the question, “Who are you?” All of us are made up of different characteristics that meld together to create who we are. But without being grounded in something bigger, all of our attempts to accurately express our individuality will fail.
Before all of the other parts I play and list in my profile, I lay claim to being a “princess servant, a child of the King.” To know you are royalty and privileged to serve your Heavenly Father is an amazing and wondrous thing, and it gives meaning to all of the other roles that classify us in this world. Can you identify?
“And I will be your Father, and you will be my sons and daughters, says the Lord Almighty.” ~ 2 Corinthians 6:18
Hannah Morgan Link,
This is my friend Steve. We met Sunday, when he visited our church, and I spoke to him again briefly Monday morning, when I took these photos of him heading out of town. It’s highly unlikely we’ll meet again this side of heaven, but I have no doubt I will see him there.
A changed life isn’t always an easier life. In this world, Steve is considered homeless. He travels around without an itinerary, riding his bike and pulling all of his earthly possessions, including his well-worn Bible, behind him in a small cart. He’ll be the first to tell you his life isn’t comfortable. Aside from the obvious hardships of his nomadic existence, people—even those who claim to emulate Jesus—can be downright mean. If you ask him why he thinks that is, he’ll say, “They don’t understand because they don’t know me. But I say, ‘I’m right here…take the time to get to know me!’”
When I asked Steve if I could take his picture he readily agreed, with one condition: that his “Jesus is Lord” plate be clearly visible in the photo. That was fine with me, but I’m not sure he needs that plate to let people know where he stands. In fact, I’m not even sure I would call Steve “homeless.” Just before he pedaled off toward Damascus, he told me he wasn’t too fond of this world. But as I reminded him…we’re not home yet. 
In an ironic twist of time, my youngest child graduated from high school in May, and last weekend I attended my 30th high school class reunion. I had a good time, but I was struck by how predictable the interactions were between my former classmates. A lot of us had been to prior reunions, but some of us hadn’t seen each other in 30 years. Either way, the conversation inevitably went something like this: “So, where are you now? What are you doing? Married? And what about kids?” 
And at the age of 48, I am comfortable (excited, even) saying, “I am a writer.” I graduated from Radford University with a degree in Journalism, and have always used some elements of my college training in my career. But it’s only in the past three years, working as an advertising and public relations copywriter, that I’ve been able to earn a paycheck doing what my diploma says I can do: write. Freelance writing and creative writing like this are the icing on the cake.
