There it sat against my hand in all its golden glory, reflecting with the snow the light of the sun. My long-awaited, highly anticipated, seemingly exclusive Starbucks gold card.
This had all the makings of a very important moment. And it would be, just not in any of the ways I had expected. But I’m getting ahead of myself…
My fingers delicately traced the perfection before me until they landed smack dab on the mother of all mistakes. It looked a little like this…
Kristen (last name omitted)
Excuse me while I rant…My name is NOT Kristen. It’s Kirsten. KIR-sten. No, it is not essentially the same thing. We are talking about two completely different people here. One being me, and other being someone whose card was mistakenly mailed to me.
Am I overreacting?
Please understand, dear reader. This is no one time offence. You know the annoying TingTing’s song that was popular a few years ago? “That’s Not My Name”? Yeah, it’s basically the soundtrack of my life.
They call me Kristen
They call me Kiersten
They call me Kirtin
Um…no, no, and heck no.
“Nothing in my life is mine.” This has become my mantra.
I say it when my tiny dorm room is bombarded with visitors, when the creamer in the fridge is all gone, when the identity of a girl I disciple becomes intertwined with my own.
While a bit martyr-esque, it does accurately convey what denying myself to do God’s will sometimes looks like in my life. Usually though, my life looks more like this…
My blood boils when my paper gets interrupted because someone needs to talk. I curse under my breath when the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door is disrespected. I’m inwardly ticked when the last k-cup goes to a crying friend.
I am spread thin.
Every morning I wake up dreading His call to die to myself. I fight it. I tighten my hold on my time, my schedule, my priorities, my friends, my room, my stuff, and my name.
But slowly and lovingly God is teaching me that what is given from my lack, and not abundance, holds the greatest Kingdom significance. I don’t have to have control.
In fact, I relish in relenting all perceived rights to “mine”.
Because when I surrender my lack of control, He always does immeasurably more. Where He breaks, He also multiplies. When I give of myself, He gives more grace.
So rewind to the Starbucks card, to the misspelled name and the temper tantrum. To the weepy laments that not even my name is my own. Apply grace. It starts looking more like this…
Right now I am breathing deeply. I am raising open hands in praise to the God who gives and takes away. Because when life gets too heavy and I collapse under the weight, the Shepherd carries me in His arms. Today I rejoice because there is a book open in Heaven where the Author and Finisher of life writes forever the names of His ransomed. On one of those pages a particular name is perfectly spelled in the penmanship of His precious blood. And it is mine.
Jesus knows my name.
Lift up your weary head, dear reader. He knows yours too.
~Kirsten
