I’m not who you think I am.
I walked into their dining room Monday night. Mr. Fred spotted me talking to a nurse and scurried over, a big smile on his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asked me.
I saw the nurse smile behind him. She whispered, “He thinks you’re his son John’s wife.”
“I’m here visiting,” I smiled back.
“Well, if you came here to see me, get your eyes full.”
“I sure will,” I said.
I wasn’t who he thought I was.
Mary Ann continues to think I’m her daughter Jan. Her eyes light up when I enter the room, not because of who I am, but because of who she thinks I am. So I give her extra attention and we have as much of a conversation as is possible back in Memory Care.
But I’m not who she thinks I am.
My mother didn’t eat much supper last night. A few peas, a few bites of meat. But when it came time for dessert, she was hungry.
I mumbled beneath my breath, “When I was growing up, I couldn’t have dessert without cleaning my plate. The rules have certainly changed.
…But now, Mama, please eat your ice cream!” (And she did.)
Maybe I’m not who I think I am either.
I may think I’m breaking, but I am strong.
I may think I’m floundering, but I am grounded.
I may think I’m disappointing, but I am loved.
Even though I am not Mr. Fred’s daughter-in-law.
I am not Mary Ann’s Jan.
I am not my mother’s clean-plate rule-keeper.
But I am His.
Because I am His, I have identity.
Because I am His, I am known.
I can rest in who I am, whether I look like the King’s daughter or not.
I am who He says I am.
To You, my all-knowing Lord,
who strengthens me, grounds me, loves me,
be glory, forever and ever.
* * *
Who do you think you are?
Please visit Holy Experience for more on How to Live like One of the Easter People.