Rudeness

After dragging my husband to a movie that no male of any species should have to endure, we went out to dinner. Mexican Food. We sat at our table, talking about the moral vaccuum that is our American culture and absentmindedly eating a whole basket of tortilla chips and salsa. Suddenly our adorable waiter (he was really small of stature and flustered by the busyness of the restaurant) appeared at our table and said: "I'm sorry it's taking so long for your food. We are really backed up in the kitchen. I promise it will be out soon". Honestly, I hadn't even noticed (because I was busy talking with the handsomest man in the world and that is way more interesting than a tamale!). In actuality, it was about 20-30 minutes between the time we ordered and when the food arrived. Normally, by the time you have ordered, handed the menu back to the waiter, and have reached for the next tortilla chip, your food shows up, so that night was abnormally slow...but we didn't really mind. The people behind us, however, did mind. While we were eating, we heard a lady complaining to the sweet, little waiter-man about how ridiculous it was that she had to wait, because she had things she needed to do. Later, another couple behind us asked to speak to a manager, who mistakenly showed up at our table instead. We told him that we were fine, but he better brace himself for attack at the next table. Poor kid looked like he was about to faint.

The man who asked to see the manager proceeded to loudly and rudely eviscerate the manager, claiming that he was paying for "food and ambiance" (not sure how much ambiance you expect to get with an $8 burrito, but it made us laugh). He said a bunch of other rude, inappropriate, loud things that made him look like an imbecile and proceeded to embarrass his wife (and everyone within a mile radius). He proclaimed that he was so upset by the experience that he didn't think he'd even be able to eat his food at this point (when the food eventually arrived, he somehow managed to move past his pain).

Now here is my main problem with this situation: you don't treat people like they are dirt beneath your feet, no matter how hungry you are. I am not opposed to lodging a complaint when necessary. In fact, I recently called the Fazoli's complaint department after waiting 20 minutes at the drive thru for some tortellini...but I didn't make the drive thru attendant feel like he was sub-human.

Another issue this situation raises for me deals with our culture: We expect everything instantly. We can't wait for anything, and worse, don't feel like we should have to wait for anything. Are we really so important that the whole world needs to revolve around us and our needs? Sometimes kitchens get backed up and that is just life. Waiting 20 minutes for your food to show up is not going to kill you. I worked at a McDonald's one summer in a wealthy suburb of Detroit where my dad lived at the time. Sometimes the grill would get backed up, especially later at night when we had less people scheduled and a little league team would show up. When there are 30 people in line, you aren't going to get your order in 10 seconds. That is just life. People take out their frustrations on the front person, because the grill people (who are working hard to get all the orders out) are hidden...and it seems that all the frustrations of a person's existence come to the surface when she is forced to wait and is no longer in control of a situation. I think you can tell a lot about a person's character by the way they wait, but that's a whole other blog.

There are entire cultures who consider a meal to be an experience...places where people spend time talking and connecting for an hour or two before they even order off a menu. As Americans, we want to run in and out and never be inconvenienced. The irate, complaining man at the restaurant was there with his wife. They sat in uncomfortable silence while waiting for their food. His dissatisfaction at waiting said a lot more to me about him than it did about the restaurant staff. Is it so hard to talk to your wife for 20 minutes and enjoy it? If so, that's the real tragedy of the night, not the delay of tacos. I am blessed to have a husband who, half-way through our meal, said to me, "Why don't you come sit next to me? You are too far away!" He was probably just trying to get on my good side (it worked!) or attribute it to the fact we've only been married a year and a half. I hope, though, that we will still have something to talk about after we've been married for 20 years. I dread the day when having to sit across from my spouse, waiting for food, becomes drudgery.

The moral reminder to me from this experience: A little waiting every now and then isn't going to kill you...so find a way to enjoy what is happening, rather than complaing and making everyone around you miserable.

Moving

Things have been busy, with lots of changes going on in our lives. The biggest change: Joe and I will be moving to a new church at the end of June. I will soon be the pastor of Eastview United Methodist Church in Whitehall, OH (aka Columbus, for those not from this part of Ohio). I have had the privilege of serving the wonderful people at Hopewell UMC in Groveport, OH for the past 4 years and will be sad to say goodbye to them, yet excited about the new possibilities God is opening up before me. It is a very surreal time in life, living in two different worlds at the same time. I am leaving, but am still present. Very odd dynamic. I don't mind change (though I do mind all the boxes around our house, mocking me about how much packing still remains undone); it is just the transitions between something old and something new--the prolonged "goodbyes", in this case--that make me weary, and sad. A special line from a favorite hymn keeps running through my mind: "O Thou who changest not, abide with me". If anyone still reads this blog and wants to remember me, Joe, Hopewell UMC and Eastview UMC in your prayers, we'd greatly appreciate it!!!

note: I haven't been blogging in quite a while and, in fact, have been pondering taking the blog down for a couple reasons: 1) because I have not done a good job keeping up with it and it has, consequently, become one more thing to feel guilty/stressed/worried about and 2) the amount of spam comments on here (the vast majority in Chinese) that I have to filter through is becoming incredibly annoying. But, there is something about this blog that I just can't turn my back on completely. So, here I am again...at least for now ;-)

The Advent Conspiracy

Advent is here and it has been 6 months since my last post...so I thought I'd attempt to begin again. It is easy to fall out of the blogging groove. I guess that is true of most things in life: stop exercising or praying or reading your Bible (insert your favorite activity to slack off on) for a few days and it is hard to get motivated again. With the important things, we usually seem to cycle back again...so here is my attempt at cycling back!

I'm not sure I have anything to say about Advent that hasn't been said a million times before...so I will speak to something that has been convicting me: the idea of finding ways to give more (i.e. "Live simply so that others may simply live"). I really like the "Advent Conspiracy" website. I also have been reading their book: Advent Conspiracy: Can Christmas Still Change the World? by Rick McKinley, Chris Seay, and Greg Holder. The main premise of the website and the book is that we have lost the meaning of Christmas due to our preoccupation (even worship) of consumerism. They encourage us to take back Christmas by doing 4 things: 1) Worship Fully, 2) Spend Less, 3) Give More, and 4) Love All. There is much that is convicting and inspiring to me about those ideas, but for today, I just want to share an excerpt and a quote from the book that I found compelling.

First, the excerpt (p.13):
The water crisis around the world is staggering. Hundreds of children die simply because they don't have access to clean drinking water. It makes our mouths drop and our stomachs turn when we realize that the amount of money we spend on Christmas in America is close to forty-five times the amount of money it would take to supply the entire world with clean water. (see Living Water International for more information)

And a quote from C.S. Lewis (p. 61) challenging us to give more to the cause of Christ:
"I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare. In other words, if our expenditure on comforts, luxuries, amusements, etc., is up to the standard common among those with the same income as our own, we are probably giving away too little. If our charities do not at all pinch or hamper us, I should say they are too small. There ought to be things we should like to do and cannot do because our charitable expenditure excludes them."

Just some thoughts that have been meaningful to me as I prepare for the coming of Christ...

It's ok to cry...

I attended a women's conference a couple weeks ago at my sister-in-law's church. It was a day-long event for women, with speakers, worship, fellowship and chocolate...plus, her church has a bookstore, which, for me, is like an opium den to a heroin addict. Lots of things from that day touched my heart and left me with a longing for more of God. One thing happened, however, that made me think, "I might just blog about that someday". A woman at my table started to cry after one of the speakers. Another woman--kind, well-intentioned, fluent in "Christian-ese"--attempted to comfort her by saying, "It's ok. God loves you. You are beautiful to Him".

Our dog, Molly, when she does not like something, has this interesting habit. The hairs on the back of her neck spike up, like a little mohawk. It happens when small children smother her with love, when she is taking a nap and we try to talk to her, and when other dogs try to sniff her in more than just a cursory greeting. When I heard the woman's platitudinous attempt at comfort, I felt like Molly. The proverbial hair on my neck started to form a "Molly mohawk".

My first objection to what she said was that she didn't know what the crying woman was feeling. She had no idea. Nor did she ask. While it is true that God loves us each intimately and deeply and that we are beautiful because of His love, I am not sure that saying that to someone you barely know is going to heal the deepest hurts of a heart. In fact, I am sure that it won't. Why isn't it ok to hurt...to cry...to just plain need God? Why do we rush to "fix" people and stop tears? Why couldn't that woman sit there and cry and we could just sit there with her, in silence, with a hand on her back to let her know she is not alone.

I guess it bothered me so much because I see that tendency in myself to want to rush people through pain. "God loves you"; "Have faith"; "I'm praying for you"...all of those are true and wonderful things, but I think we often say them more out of our personal discomfort than because it is what a hurting person really needs to hear. We don't know what to say, so we pull out a platitude. We have our own hurts that we don't know how to deal with--things that start to come to the surface when others around us are hurting or in need--and we want to squelch it back down and make things comfortable again.

I am always struck by the Psalms for that very reason. Nothing is anesthetized, nothing is "safe". It is raw and awkward and uncomfortable...and for some reason, that is ok. That is different than my experience of the Church a lot of times. Especially at funerals. How many times have I heard mourners say, "They wouldn't want us to cry" or "I have to be strong for my loved one; that is what he/she would want me to do". Really? Is that true? I'll be honest and say that when I die, I expect some tears, people. I want to be missed...just like I will deeply and desperately miss the people that mean the most to me. Even Jesus wept over sin and death. When His friend Lazarus died, Jesus cried...right before He brought him back to life. I could analyze why Jesus cried, but I'll save that for some other post. The point is, He cried. He mourned. He felt. Tears are not a lack of faith. Feeling pain is not a failure on our path to spiritual maturity. It is part of being alive, part of being real, part of being connected to (as well as disconnected from) others.

I remember being a chaplain intern at a hospital one summer. For some reason, I was the "angel of death". I had friends that never experienced one death as a chaplain. I'd have 50 deaths a night...ok, maybe not 50, but some statistically impossible number of deaths again and again, night after night of being "on call". While the world slept one dark night, my beeper went off. An older man had passed away--a man who was old enough for death not to be an impossibility, yet still unexpected in this particular situation. I came into the room, introduced myself as the chaplain, and kind of stood in the room, waiting to see what the family needed. They were loud and sobbing. At one point, a daughter (in her 50s or 60s), literally climbed on top of her father's dead body and sobbed more loudly than I have ever heard anyone sob. The other mourners in the room joined in the melancholy chorus. It was deafeningly loud and uncomfortable and awkward. Everything inside me wanted to yell: "Stop!" I had never seen anything like it. It was too raw. You are supposed to control yourself in front of others. Deal with your pain in private and in public, act in a controlled, respectable manner. That was how every death I experienced went. You didn't sob and throw yourself on the body, even if you wanted to. At some point, I suggested we pray, and we did, amidst even more sobbing. Then I got out of there as fast as I possibly could. Great chaplain, I know!

Over the years, I have reflected on that experience. I am not sure where and how I learned that too much emotion is bad, but it seems to be commonplace in the Church. We have to act happy, act "Christian"--even when everything is falling apart. We put on faces and play a part. That is what it means to follow Christ--at least that is how we act it out, regardless of what we really believe. I wonder if that family was closer to the truth than I am, than we are. Maybe it is alright to sob and wail when you feel your heart breaking. Maybe being real and authentic is ok. Maybe it is even "Christian" to be that way. Maybe we need to stop rushing people through their uncomfortable emotions so that we feel better, safer, less out of control. Maybe it is ok to just let someone cry--even sob--and not have to say anything to "fix" it at all.

Joy Robbers

I served as a spiritual director on a Christian retreat (called "Emmaus") this past weekend. During a question and answer time, one of the questions asked was: "What do you do with all the 'joy robbers' at your church"? First, I laughed...because I knew exactly what that woman meant by a "joy robber". They are everywhere, in the church and outside the church: people who sap your energy, squash your dreams, poop on your best ideas, and generally make you want to go jump off a bridge. I gave some really poetic pastoral response about keeping our focus on Jesus and not letting other people's responses bring us down. I talked about Jesus being crucified on the cross and how his response to people far worse than a joy robber was, "Father, forgive them. They don't know what they are doing". I even mentioned how, if we are honest with ourselves, each one of us has been a joy robber to someone else, probably without even knowing it. People nodded their heads in agreement with my extremely profound and spiritually insightful answer to the question. I was pretty proud of myself. Then I left the weekend to attend my church that morning, before heading back to Emmaus to finish the rest of the weekend.

Just before worship service started, I saw one coming toward me...one of my favorite joy robbers. This person has made joy robbing into an art form. In our brief interaction, I felt all the peace, rest, beauty, energy, and grace I had been experiencing on the Emmaus weekend completely drain from my soul. I sat down in my fancy pastor's chair while our wonderful church pianist played music for the acolytes. I had my head down, praying...frustrated and disappointed. My husband caught my eye and mouthed to me, "What's wrong?". I mouthed back the name of that morning's joy robber. He instantly laughed, because he has heard many tales of joy robbing involving that particular name--and even experienced it himself. I was so angry with myself, upset that I could let someone steal my joy that quickly and easily. The irony was not lost on me. It is one thing to tell people how to act Christlike in response to joy robbers. It is quite another thing to live it out.

I had time while driving back to the Emmaus weekend after church services to pray and reflect about how easily I lose sight of Christ and all His goodness. I eventually caught sight of Him again, but we will see what happens the next time a joy robber comes around (my guess is that will be Sunday morning some time)...I am sure my eyes will slip again, and I will be discouraged, at least momentarily.

There are some who say not to worry about the joy robbers, but I do. Part of it is my neurotic need to have everyone like me. But a deeper part is that I truly care about people, even the cranky ones. My favorite joy robber--the one who got me this past Sunday--is someone I genuinely like. I want that person to know the joy that Jesus brings. I don't think you can be a joy robber if you are experiencing the life and Spirit of Christ at work in your heart on a regular basis. My guess is that those joy robbers are missing some joy themselves...why else would they need to rob it from those who have it?

There are church leaders who have said to me, "The secret to leadership is to go with those who want to go". The premise there is to focus on the people who are excited to go where you are leading, and let the others gripe and grumble as they may. There is truth in that. The joy robbers can steal your attention from what is important. But they still matter to God, grumpy and draining though they may be.

I have this unquenchable optimism in the power of Jesus Christ to transform hearts and lives. I have experienced it myself...and experience on a regular basis. I see His power at work in lives all around me. I want to see it at work in those joy robbers.

My new goal in dealing with joy robbers is two-fold: 1) even though their responses may bother me momentarily, I will not dwell on it and 2) I will do everything in my power to show joy to the joy robbers...so that they can stop robbing and start overflowing.

My challenge for you today (and for me) is to hunt down some joy robbers--seek them out--and lavish your joy on them. Then walk away smiling.

The Value of a Life

I officiated my stepgrandmother's funeral yesterday. It was a small service, with a private family viewing and then a brief graveside rite. As we drove to the cemetary, I looked behind us at the line of cars following in the procession. There were maybe 6 cars. It seemed sad to me, that so few people were there. It made me think about what is really important at the end of a life. Yesterday, I thought, "I hope, when I die, there are more cars than this in my funeral processional".

It is not a matter of popularity or needing people to mourn me. It is about knowing that my life was significant, that I loved well and was loved in return. For me, the value of a life can be summed up by how well we loved, both God and others. I want to touch other lives. I want it to matter that I was here. I want to live in such a way that people feel compelled to come say goodbye to me.

At a recent funeral I officiated, for a wonderful man named Richard Cook, I was reminded about the kind of life I want to live. Person after person came by and spoke about what a great man he was, how loving he was, how gentle he was...how he was the kindest person they had ever known. I want to live my life in such a way--to leave my mark on the world by the way that I love and treat others. I want to live in such a way that when I die, people will want to be better--to live more fully, boldy, lovingly--because of my example.

I am reminded, again, of a song that has always meant a lot to me. I know I blogged about it a couple years ago, but the chorus bears repeating.

Legacy
by Nicole Nordeman

Chorus:
I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough to make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace who blessed Your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy
----------------

May we strive to leave a legacy of love in all that we do and say and are...so that when our lives end, we will have left a mark of grace on a multitude of hearts and lives.

Transitions

I am now a married woman...almost 7 weeks. It has been a lot easier to join my life with another person's than I ever imagined. We don't have disagreements about the toothpaste squeezing or the direction toilet paper should go on the roll. That isn't to say we don't have disagreements: we do! But it is never about the small stuff; our struggles are more about our internal demons and insecurities, trying to figure out how the other person communicates, and about finally feeling loved and safe after a lifetime of never really experiencing that with such intensity. It is a transition to trust someone to love you unconditionally and forever. It is a nice transition, but a transition nonetheless.

It is amazing to me how much of life is about transitioning. I say this as a person who just got married...then my aunt died...my dear friend's mother and father died within a month of one another...my step-grandmother died this week. Lots of death. Lots of transition.

Most of life involves change. There are very few times where life is simply "normal" and immutable. Most seasons include some kinds of transition: some happy, like marriage...others painful, like death. Most are mixed, meaning that there is happiness present at the saddest of times, and a little sorrow, even at the happiest moments.

Being human, I can't say I am overly fond of change. It doesn't bother me as much as the average person (I attribute this to being an ENFP on the Myers Briggs--that "p" part sort of thrives on change)...still, I like things to feel comfortable, normal, at rest. How often, really, is life like that? There may be a day here or there that is changeless...but for the most part, life is on the move, transition after transition.

I have always clung to the verse in Hebrews 13:8, "Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever". It gives me peace to know that whatever is changing around me, Jesus stays solid. Jesus stays the same.

The truth of God's constancy overwhelmed me during one of the recent funerals that I performed. (Please God, no more funerals...can I just get a month off from funerals?) As the pastor, it is my job to lead the body to the graveside. I walk ahead, with the pall bearers carrying the casket behind me, to the graveside. I stand there, at the head of the casket, waiting for it to be set into place. Long ago, someone told me that a pastor is meant to represent God to people--that during the significant moments of life, the pastor is there with families, reminding them that God is with them. Even when you don't say anything, as a pastor, you represent God's constant presence.

The last time I led a body to the grave, I was overwhelmed by the idea that I represented God's presence. It dawned on me that, just as I walk before the casket, God is always leading us to where we will go next. There has never been a moment when He was not present with us. There is no place we will go where He has not walked ahead. Even when we take our final breath, even then God has gone before us, to prepare a place for us.

I find it comforting that no matter how much life changes, God goes before us and after us and beside us and within us...leading, guiding, holding, healing, changing, helping, shaping, perfecting. As we face transitions that seem unknown and, perhaps, frightening, let us take comfort in our Leading God...who goes before us, every step of the way.

Long Absences

Hello Blog Readers!

Thank you for checking back in, even though I have been "silent" for a long time. Things have been busy: got engaged, planning a wedding, getting married in 30 days and 11 hours. In some ways, the wedding cannot get here soon enough, because I am truly ready to join my life with Joe's. It is all the little wedding details that make me wish there was at least a little more time left.

Being a pastor, I used to inwardly laugh at brides and all the things they worried about--things that really have no eternal meaning and really aren't important enough to cause ulcers (or potential matricide). Yet, now that I am the bride, I see it from a totally different perspective. It is like a light-switch clicked on and I became inordinately concerned with things like balloons and bubbles and ribbons and bows. Yes, I have become Bridezilla...me, the one who has counseled couples about the marriage relationship being the most important part of a wedding, about the wedding being a worship service meant to honor God, and about not getting caught up in details that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things, etc. Those are easy words to say until you become the bride and actually find yourself crying (read sobbing) over a simple, inconsequential printing error on your wedding invitations. Every few days, I cry about something. In all fairness, I think it is just the stress.

I am not stressed about marrying Joe. He's the best thing that has ever happened to me. I think that, because I have come to love him so much, I want a wedding that reflects how much Joe means to me, in the most perfect form possible. Perfection is a harsh thing to strive for...and pointless, really. I don't even know what perfect is. Still, I think a lot of the Bridezilla-mentality stems from a need to make your wedding into the perfect representation of your love. Not only does the phrase "perfect representation of our love" make me want to vomit, it is also impossible to symbolize marital love through bows and flowers. That just isn't going to happen. Something that meaningful cannot be made tangible through cake and balloons. Those things are just accessories meant to draw attention to what really matters.

This whole process has been eye-opening to me. I have learned that sometimes we surprise ourselves with our emotions and reactions. I have learned that I am more worldly-minded at times than I like to admit. And I have learned to never tell a bride to "calm down, it will all work out" (I am sure it is true, but brides don't want to hear it). I am also learning that maybe the stress and the mini-freakouts are just a normal part of the process and I should simply find a way to enjoy the crazy ride that leads me down the aisle. I will only travel this way one time; I might as well get the full experience! In the end, as long as Joe and I are married, I will be happy. Between now and then, I will probably be having nightmares about food running out, balloons deflating, flowers dying, and boys from the youth group (who are serving as ushers) wrestling each other in the narthex. Still, I guess the real fun (and meaning) in life is found in the unexpected, the disruptions, the detours. It is hard to remember that right now. I am sure I will get my spiritual perspective back again, after Bridezilla fever has passed.

I can't promise lots of blogging in the next month, but I will be back here soon enough. I miss it! And, who knows, you may get some pre-wedding rants from time to time in the next 30 days (and 11 hours). I am not sure how spiritually reflective it will be, but it will probably make you smile.

Feel free to check out our wedding website to read about the wedding details and sign our guest book: http://www.wedorama.com/joeandtina/

ALABASTER BOX - CECE WINANS

I am preaching this week about the woman who annoints Jesus' feet with a costly oil, just before He dies. She is scorned for her extravagance, by everyone but Jesus. Jesus appreciates the gesture, because Jesus always welcomes people who love Him with abandon...people who know how desperately they need Him and give their best to Him.

In preparation for this sermon, I have come back to a song that meant a lot to me at one point in my life: "Alabaster Box" by Cece Winans. I think I have listend to this song at least 100 times this week and wanted to share it with you, my blogging friends. I love the line: "You don't know the cost of the oil, you don't know the cost of my praise, you don't know the cost of the oil in my alabaster box". I love the idea that because we have been so completely forgiven, we would lavish our love on Jesus.

I pray for each of us that we might more fully feel our need of Jesus...that we would experience His forgiveness in the deepest parts of our hearts and lives...and that, because we have been forgiven so completely, we might learn to really love God extravagantly.

"Alabaster Box" Lyrics
VERSE 1
The room grew still as she made her way to Jesus
She stumbles through the tears that made her blind
She felt such pain, some spoke in anger
Heard folks whisper, there's no place here for her kind.
Still on she came, through the shame that flushed her face
Until at last she knelt before His feet. And though she spoke no words
Everything she said was heard, As she poured her love for the Master
From her box of Alabaster.

CHORUS
And I've come to pour my praise on Him like oil from Mary's Alabaster Box
Don't be angry if I wash His feet with my tears and I dry them with my hair.
You weren't there the night He found me.
You did not feel what I felt when He wrapped His love all around me.
And you don't know the cost of the oil in my Alabaster Box.

VERSE 2
I can't forget the way life used to be. I was a prisoner to the sin that had me bound
I spent my days pouring my life without measure
Into a little treasure box I thought I found. Until the day when Jesus came to me
And healed my soul with the wonder of His touch.
So now I'm giving back to Him all the praise He's worthy of .
I've been forgiven and that's why I love Him so much.

CHORUS
And I've come to pour my praise on Him like oil from Mary's Alabaster Box
Don't be angry if I wash His feet with my tears
And I dry them with my hair, my hair.
You weren't there the night Jesus found me. You did not feel what I felt
When He wrapped His love all around me. And you don't know the cost of the oil
Oh, you don't know the cost of my praise. You don't know the cost of the oil
In my Alabaster Box.

Being the Beloved

I have been thinking recently about how I define myself as a person. What gives me meaning? What gives me purpose? Who am I? Even as a Christian, do I find my identity in the things I do well, in my successes and achievements? Or do I define myself by what God says about me? Is my meaning and purpose found in my relationship with Christ?

As I am asking these thoughts, I came across the following reading (below), which speaks to our identity as "Beloved"...not because we are good or perfect, but simply because that is what God chooses to think and say about us.

I love that the very first thing God says about Jesus is that he is "beloved", that the Father is "pleased" with him. This happens before Jesus performs any miracles or enters into public ministry. God is pleased with Jesus, just as he is...because Jesus is beloved. We, too, are beloved. We may not feel it, but feelings do not make things true or untrue...they just muddy reality and distract us from what is most valid and life-giving. The truth is that we, just like Jesus, are beloved by God. That is the core of our identity...that is who we are: BELOVED.

I pray that the thoughts of Nouwen (below) will remind you to find your identity in your relationship to God...the God who loves you, just as you are...

"You Are My Beloved"
(from "The Only Necessary Thing: Living a Prayerful Life"; a book of thoughts from Henri Nouwen, compiled and edited by Wendy Wilson Greer)

I very much believe that the core moment of Jesus' public life was the baptism in the Jordan, when Jesus heard the affirmation, "You are my beloved on whom my favor rests". That is the core experience of Jesus. He is reminded in a deep, deep way of who he is. The temptations in the desert are temptations to move him away from that spiritual identity. He was tempted to believe he was someone else: You are the one who can turn stone into bread. You are the one who can jump from the temple. You are the one who can make others bow to your power. Jesus said, "No, no, no. I am the Beloved from God." I think his whole life is continually claiming that identity in the midst of everything. There are times in which he is praised, times when he is despised or rejected, but he keeps saying, Others will leave me alone, but my Father will not leave me alone. I am the beloved Son of God. I am the hope found in that identity.
Prayer, then, is listening to that voice--to the One who calls you the Beloved. It is to constantly go back to the truth of who we are and claim it for ourselves. I'm not what I do. I'm not what people say about me. I'm not what I have. Although there is nothing wrong with success, there is nothing wrong with popularity, there is nothing wrong with being powerful, finally my spiritual identity is not rooted in the world, the things the world gives me. My life is rooted in my spiritual identity. Whatever we do, we have to go back regularly to that place of core identity."