identity theft

It's true that you identity changes as your life goes on. Your identity is wrapped up in this current thing in your life, or that, but when it's over, there is this sense of emptiness or loss. Sometimes this is okay because your identity changes as you grow as a person, but, in a sense, I think I'm realizing that your true identity shouldn't ever change if you truly have the mind of Christ.

Identity is defined in the dictionary as:

the state or fact of remaining the same one or ones, asunder varying aspects or conditions: The identity of thefingerprints on the gun with those on file provided evidence thathe was the killer.

2.

the condition of being oneself or itself, and not another: Hedoubted his own identity.

3.

condition or character as to who a person or what a thing is:a case of mistaken identity.

4.

the state or fact of being the same one as described.

5.

the sense of self, providing sameness and continuity inpersonality over time and sometimes disturbed in mentalillnesses, as schizophrenia.

Identity is much more that what you are doing. It is your being, what drives you, what you stand on, what enables you to really follow Christ into the fray. You don't change when you have an identity. Wrapping up one's identity in something they are doing is a very shallow, flimsy thing at best. You can wear a name tag that says, "Hello, my name is PhD, Masters in Divinity, Slimy-Know-It-All" or "Hello, my name is Deadbeat, Dropout, Loser", but that is not who you are. That is what you have done.

I thought I understood this, but with everything God's been showing me these last few months and what it's all coming together to mean, I see now that what He showed me before about who I am in Him was only a glimpse of who and what I really am to Him. It was enough to stand on for a time, but now life is hitting a new beat--time to really face Him and what He made me and abide in it.

There are some--some I've come into contact with recently, in fact--who set up a false identity for themselves because they want to be something. They think that if they want to be it bad enough or that if they can get enough people to believe it, they'll be it. They're wrong, though. Identity starts inside--much like character, and acting, consequently--and comes out. The song says, "from the inside out" doesn't it?

Unfortunately, associating with false identities or wrapping your identity up in something that is only what you're doing will cause emptiness and a sense of loss when whatever you've been doing comes to an end. I loathe fakeness. Loathe. Hate. Want to set on fire. I hate it especially when I get caught up in it. I refuse to do it anymore.

As I've jumped off this bridge, screaming to add to this cacophony of rhythm, God has challenged my identity. I have been one who tends to identify with whatever I am currently doing. Sometimes it was in my job, usually it was school or whatever I was going through. It labeled me. When I was confused, it gave me comfort. Good golly what a mess that was sometimes. It wasn't always bad, but it wasn't ever what I should've been doing. Going to Charis and working a lame job has helped draw this out into the light where I could really examine it. I came to Charis without very many expectations. I wasn't sure what it would be like; I hoped it wouldn't really be like the other Christian bubbles I'd been a part of, but I didn't know if it would be better or not. I went in hesitantly, observing before I plunged into anything. I'm so glad I made that decision. Instead of just jumping into a social network or into a lot of stuff that would get me noticed at school, I've floated under the radar for the first time in several years, but not in a self-conscious, shy way. I've experienced a lot of things and thought about much during this time, but what it has all come down to is my identity and where I am with God. It started with the fact that I didn't (and still don't) want Charis Bible College to be my identity. I didn't want to be a Charisite, didn't want to be someone who was all gung-ho about the school because I knew God was more than a good bible college. I also didn't want the physical challenges I experience to be my identity, so I have mentioned it to only a handful of people at school. I also didn't go out of my way to make a bunch of friends, especially because I didn't feel like I fit with most of them.

Instead, what has happened is I have made a few good friends, I have begun to really understand what it means to not fear man, I have had an interesting job and subsequently quit in a five month period, and I am enjoying the adventure. I've been sleeping through the night--what a joy! I'm the kind of person who doesn't sleep much when I'm upset, which is apparently the opposite from most people. I sleep best when I am at peace. Retaining the identity Christ gave me when I was born again has to be the most peaceful thing I have ever gone through.

You can know a lot of things about God and what He says, like how He says the "fear of man proves a snare", but understanding them is a whole different ball game. Turns out, not fearing people means having a true identity in Whose you are. Why should you be afraid of anyone or anything if the Creator of the Universe has your back? I've said that before, but holy crap, have you ever really thought about that? God does NOT abandon His own--that's something I've learned out here too. For too long I lived under the biggest lie--that sometimes God just drops me in order to teach me something, that He let's bad things happen to me so I'll be stronger. No, bad things happen because this world is tainted. He sent His son so that we might be redeemed and be able to confidently say He has our collective back once again. Whew. That's a different soap box. I might go on it sometime and actually provide scripture, but I'm just going to move on for now.

I haven't lived the holiest of lives since I've been out here, but I'd say I've gained so much more in this leap than I ever did in trying to live holy on my own strength. I think that matters more to God, and He matters a lot to me. The identity He gave me is pretty swell, if I do say so myself, and I'm not about to let anyone or anything cut in on my race anymore. Especially not me. I am my biggest roadblock in life. I often have to tell myself to get over myself. It can get confusing sometimes. No more identity theft by way of an inside job, or an outside, for that matter. Be loved, kay? Everyone's on a journey and I did understand this a bit, but now I see just how much I didn't see before...I see how selfish I've been. It's humbling to think that God's grace covers that and I can just go on with life. He doesn't hold it against me. What a great friend.

two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

If I was writing about a broken heart, I'd start with yours.

Your story involves mine because it breaks mine, but not for the reasons I thought before. You see, all day I think of you, and all day I want to cry. I thought this was about me. I was wrong. I wanted to say that what I thought was a promise, was merely a loaded clip aimed at my heart. It was your heart that shattered though.

I was hurt--broken--too, until I knew your story. You see, that day you held my hand, that's when I fell for you. It's the day I still look back on when I want to be filled with joy and feel like I'm loved. For a while the memory also brought with it an ache, a dull slice across my heart. I admit, sometimes it still does. You were happy. I was happy. For me it was the first time in months that I had smiled so much. I know now you were starting to hurt then. I wish I had known. Then again, maybe that would've ruined it.

"Holding hands, feeding ducks. When I met you, that's what I wanted to do."

From the first day I knew you, I knew you were special. I didn't know you were like me, hiding your pain behind playful antics or somber wallflower acts. I thought you knew where you were, who you were, and what you wanted, nothing more. How could someone like you hurt? Your spirit was so lively to me. You helped me find my heart again, back on those swings. I didn't know it was hiding until then. I didn't know I was looking for it. I didn't know I was so blind.

Even when you lied to me, I still loved you. I didn't know then why the betrayal hurt so much, but now I think I do. I think it was because my hope was dashed a bit. Hope I'd had subconsciously that you wouldn't be like the rest. That betrayal wouldn't happen. Even when you lied, I learned to still be okay when it was over. Of course, I didn't know I loved you until after I was angry with you.

I once was blind, but now I see.

I see now, I see that I was blind. I wanted to know you before, but that desire was blinded by the stronger desire to be known by someone like you. I wish I could've been a better friend to you. I wish I could pretend that perhaps my life helped to distract you from yours, but I don't really know. I hope I did a mite better than I think I did.

I see now that you have been in pain for some time now, even when you were hurting me. I was so blinded by my own supposed agonies that I didn't touch yours. How could you feel whole when your world is falling down in threes? When what you really want doesn't seem to want you? I see now that what you thought was a promise, was merely a loaded clip aimed at your heart. Your gun wasn't even loaded when you aimed it at me. The pain I felt was self-inflicted.

Can you forgive me? Will you?

I don't think you know any of this. I am loathe to be more than a coward and actually tell you to your face. I wish I was braver.

I wish I could tell you what you are to me. A rainbow on a rotten day--a promise--wouldn't say enough to do you justice. Flowers blooming everywhere--but only in my mind. My heart erupting with light--which sounds a bit fatal, if you think about it. Your smile can make my soul soar and make me feel safter than being in the Bat Cave. I am absolutely petrified of the ocean, but I'd go in with you. But it's positively more than any of this! Those things are mere fragments of what I could say for you! The way you light up the lives of others, those around you, by simply being constant and wanting to be around them. The fact that you notice little things, that you live simply. That you are witty, clever, and quite the goon. You want to help others in a way that isn't necessarily noticed by everyone and their mother on national news. You listen. You care.

I guess I could keep gushing like a heartsick buffoon, but the time has come for me to say this:  in this pain you are going through, I know He has you. I sometimes think I could reach out, take the pieces of your heart and mend them, but I can't do that as well as He. I talk to Him about you when I feel like crying. These days I'm crying for you. I know what it's like to feel pain and not know how to fix it. I know what it's like when all you want to do is hide from it and everyone else. He knows. He is a comforter and a friend. He wants you to know you are loved, always. That's something that's hard for me to grasp, too.

We're in this together, whether you like it or not. We'll know we're Loved or die trying.

I suppose it's true when they say love blinds you--a version of it does, yes, and in certain ways. Sometimes love is purely emotional and selfish. When His love light can finally break through that muck you've carved around you--that blinding light you thought was love--you'll really see. He's there and you're there and that's all that matters. Then you can see others--His light isn't blinding. I pray His love will shine through me ever brighter in the days to come, especially when it comes to you, my friend.

We'll see the lights coming off of us, illuminating what we really are--loved.

I once thought I'd be writing about my broken heart, broken over a silly thing like you. Now I see, though, that it's your heart that really needs the mending. Mine was just bent a little out of shape. You're a hero, I was a fool. Good thing there's grace for that too.

my life is like a screamo song

Okay, screamo, metal, what-have-you, that's the type of song I'm talking about.

Apparently, according to urban dictionary, a screamo song is a throwback to emo songs of old. That's not exactly what I meant, so forgive me if I'm loose with the definition. Also, despite how it may sound in the following, I am a fan of the above genre. Don't hate.

Essentially, what I am and have been experiencing are moments of clarity punctuated by moments of absolute in-lucidity (I know that they're saying words when they're screaming, but I swear all I hear are gorilla mating calls--not to be associated with what I am about to discuss in similarity to my life) and a raw outpouring of feeling. It's not necessarily negative feeling, really, just a lot to let out sometimes, and a lot I don't really know how to explain at first. Everything is also very hardcore; as was pointed out once again the other day, I don't do anything halfway. Jessi Nichols once said, "Dena, everything you do, the way you live, is epic." (Epic, by the way, has more than the one meaning of being a poem like Homer. it also means of unusually great size or extent. It also means heroic or majestic, but let's not get too particular). Lately I've felt like this was true; I have an unusual life which involves me feeling like I'm not well understood in most cases--primarily with those closest to me (does that sound emo or what?)--yet another parallel to screamo. (I feel like this word should be hyphenated like 'scream-o' but then it just sounds silly.)

Sometimes people who listen to metal or screamo (emphasis on sometimes) are those who feel alone at times, even when surrounded by people who they know love them. Yes, we are loved, but are we known? I would almost be so bold to say that is the more intimate step of love, to know someone and to want to get to know them as they change and grow. The love one's family possesses for them is often unfailing and somewhat understanding, but there is often a lack of empathy. That's how it feels for me sometimes, anyway.

However, there is a harmonious feel to this life, also. The instrumental part of the song, sometimes a bass or guitar solo, which gives the song its rhythm, feel, and direction. This part is primarily why I like this genre; the music is not noticed at first a midst the gorilla cries, but it is the part that makes it listen-able. I don't know about any of you, but just listening to someone scream is grating and painful, especially if you can't understand what they're screaming about. Don't get me wrong, I can scream with the best of them (no offense to those of you out there without this ability) and screaming can be an effective way of release, but nobody really likes to listen to it, I don't care what they tell you.

Where am I going with this, you might be asking right now. Honestly I was asking myself the same thing (today has been rather lethargic--strange how tired you can be when you've done nothing all day). Here's the long and short of it:  I have just jumped off one of the biggest bridges in my life and moved to Colorado Springs. Gotta say, not something I would have chosen to do on my own. It's been both exhilarating and frightening. God has come through in ways I never really imagined and that's the only thing that's made this worthwhile. I'm sure that's a rather negative way of looking at it--the adventure and chance to be in a new place has also been worthwhile. The chance to trust God in a new way--a much bigger way than I imagined--it's all been worth it. This doesn't mean it has come without moments of screaming. In some ways, I wish I wasn't here. I'm having to do a lot of hard things. I keep having to remind myself that I told God I wanted the hard things so I could grow and really become who he needs for my job on this earth. Be careful what you tell God in a moment of emotional upheaval when you feel stagnant.

Knowing and being known is an intimate relationship; it takes time and effort...it's the effort part that some miss. Lately I've been burned when it comes to certain friendships and even relationships within my family, but I still keep my head up, looking for the people God will bring that won't do this so easily. I constantly remind myself that people are fallible and will fail me at some point, especially if I have high expectations. What's harder to remind myself is that it's okay to hold people to some standards. It's been hard to see those who have left or I have had to leave behind. It argues with my nature, which is to never leave anyone behind. This bridge, in particular, has been one of the hardest and scariest to jump off. I usually maintain the mantra of, "I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it," but this one seemed to come up on me quick.

As I look back across the last five years or so, though, I see where I have jumped off many bridges. For some, I landed in a boat. For others, I landed in the water and was swept downstream. Somehow, though, I've always ended up where I needed to be and in one piece, so to speak. Actually, I've been shattered more times than I care to recount here, but I'm starting to glimpse the masterpiece God is building from the pieces. It has also been beautiful to see who I land next to sometimes; it's not usually who I expect, but I am thankful for each one who has come down the river with me after the crazy banshee known as Dena Williams landed in the boat or river next to them. For some reason they saw something in my life worth sticking with in some capacity. It hasn't always ended well, but it has made me who I am. That is the harmony, the symphonic part, I think, the masterpiece of love. It's easy to hear all the screaming (yes, occasional gorilla grunts) and be angry or sad or even excessively happy. The joy, however, is in the rhythm. All together, it makes a song.

So, yes, I spend a lot of time mentally screaming and being frustrated, but at the back of all of this, I can hear the melody stringing out a sweet song--not one normally heard in a screamo song, but a floating harmony made up mostly of violins. It's peaceful. It reminds me of Whose I am. Soon the music will overtake the screaming.

Regardless of where this has brought me, I'll still jump off the next bridge too, probably still screaming, but the music will be loud enough to hear over me. That's how He works.

"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret to being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all things through him who gives me strength." -Philippians 4:12-13

what's in a name?

My name is a walking oxymoron.

“Deanna Williams?”

“Dena.”

“How do you spell that?”

“D-e-n-a.”

“Oh...Dena...is that short for something?”

“Nope.”

My name is one of the most mispronounced in all of America, or so it seems. I often get something like Deanna or Dana; the Deanna confuses me because there are no extra 'A's' in my name at all. Just one, there at the end. Dana is kind of understandable; I worked at camp for a summer with a Dana and boy did that get confusing. The different spellings people come up with amuse me too—Deena, Dina, Deana—my name is among the simplest to spell and yet no one seems to be able to get it right on the first try. I've grown fairly patient with this fact, although I was Dean in the yearbook once. Typo.

The strangest misspelling I have encountered thus far, though, was in Uganda. You see, the pronunciation of my name is how they pronounce “dinner.” I told the kids I was teaching what my name was and they hid their faces behind their hands and giggled, whispering to one another in Lusoga. I didn't know why this was for quite a while—not until a girl asked me if “d-i-n-n-e-r” was how I spelled my name. They considered it their personal joke all summer long.

The other ridiculous thing I have trouble understanding is when people ask me if it's short for anything. First of all, the only thing I can think of it being short for is “Pasadena” but what kind, loving parent would name their child after the city that hosts the Rose Bowl? No, my name isn't short for anything. In fact, people usually have to lengthen it in order to give me a nickname.

My name, according to my parents, means “Bright as Day.” My mom wanted to be able to be saying, essentially, “Bright as Day, would you come here?” or “Bright as Day, eat your soup” or “Bright as Day Marie, bend over my knee right now!” I'm sure my mom meant well, but did she realize what she was doing to me when she gave me such an obscure name? Not only an obscure name, but one with a bizarre spelling? She basically signed over the rights to everyone else in the world to be able to mock, tear apart, and misunderstand me for the rest of my life.

Even if she didn't know what she was doing exactly, it was probably part of God's grand plan or something. When I told my best friend what my name means according to my parents, her laughter was like a loud horn blowing a single blast before being quickly silenced when she put her hand over her mouth.

“I'm sorry. Was that out loud?” she asked amid stifled giggles.

The next day she sent me a piece of flair on Facebook that said, “My Indian name is Trips Over Sunlight.”

I think God knew there was a potential in my personality and internal makeup to take life and myself too seriously. So He made me a joke. Having the name “Dena” has certainly proved a source of hilarity; the Trips Over Sunlight thing isn't too far off, really. I trip over everything that has mass. I can manage to stumble over things that do not even protrude from anywhere, like the ground. It's like things just pop up for me to trip over and give everyone else a hearty laugh. Over time I began to laugh too, but my laughter is bittersweet. I know it's a gas, don't get me wrong, but am I always to be the one to give others such an opportunity to relieve themselves from the mundaneness of life?

The fact that my last name is one of the most popular in the whole United States is fairly humorous in and of itself, considering the oddness and rarity of my first name. It's an interesting oxymoron; the surname means the shield or defense of many. I couldn't win with my last name in Uganda either; they just thought my “second name” was comical because it is a boy's name.

So...Bright as Day (Trips Over Sunlight) Shield of Many. If that isn't a joke of a name, I'm not sure what is. Who would really want someone who trips over sunlight to be their shield?

In many countries in Africa your name is supposed to define you, to be a reflection of who you are as a person. On the surface of it all, my name is a farce, so it could be assumed that I am such. The truth is, though, I secretly want to be what my name means. I want to be a light to others, one that shows them this life isn't so bad. The one that when someone's dog just died or they lost their job they can come to for a hug and lightheartedness borne out of my own share of suffering that can show them things aren't so bleak as they feel. I want the plain, contradictory name of Dena Williams to accompany a smile…I just hope that beneath the mockery and joking it means there is a quiet joy and a knowing that when they say it, when they see me, they don’t have to be reminded of what they want to run away from. If having to be reminded of what I have run from all my life does that for them, so be it.

I just keep hoping that sometime, somewhere, someone will do that for me.

adventure-full adventurer

Many things have changed since my last post I think. I also think it will take a while to unpack them all. For one, I'm not afraid of adventures anymore. Not like I was, anyway.

I think I'm more ready to step onto the Enterprise than I was six months ago, thanks to God. The phrase "love casts out fear" has taken on a new meaning for me. The more I have begun to understand God's love for me, the less I am afraid of silly things like getting on a bus and travelling for thirty hours to Colorado. Sure, it's not for everyone and no, I don't recommend travelling just for the sake of travelling. There should be some kind of purpose to it. Mine was to get to my family here in Colorado Springs and to try and figure out why the heck God told me to come here. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the priviledge of such an adventure which includes climbing mountains and coming down the sheer faces of giant rocks, but I have no real reason to be here. I didn't have a job waiting. I'm not looking to settle down yet. My family and I aren't exactly in sync (no matter how much we've all changed because of this) and I only have one real friend here outside of my family. Doesn't seem promising, does it?

I'm trying to keep my heart open and my eyes searching...God has to have something up his sleeve. I know I'm supposed to be here, but, on the outside, there doesn't seem to be much happening. I'm thankful for much right now, though--the chance to spend time with my family (which hasn't happened in seven years), a wonderful new place to explore, a good friend to explore with, and, of course, continuing chances to know the Lord more.

I've noticed themes of restoration around corners here and there. Maybe my summer has more to do with that and less to do with paying off my debt. God will honor me if I obey him, I just have to trust him. It'd be nice to be let in on the plan once in a while though.