I used to be from...

Have you ever just had one of those thoughts. 

And you think about that thought- over and over again- until you are not even sure what originally made you have that thought but somehow that thought continues to persist... 

This morning, I was right there. And having the type of brain I have, I began to quietly compose a blog post long before I actually started to write. What was this thought? 

I used to be from the country. 

Or something like that. Profound isn't it? Perhaps not. But it had me thinking about insecurity and identity and what we identify with. 

Way Back Then (Okay... Maybe not WAY)

I live in a city. I really truly do and I am very happy with where I live. We have a spacious lot in a lovely neighborhood 3 minutes from a grocery store. My neighborhood has convenience, space, and as much quiet as is possible when you live 5 minutes from the Interstate. The funny part of this is, I used to hate this city. I disliked being in it, I disliked traveling to and from it, and I even disliked the face of my now-favorite mountain because it was only visible from the city. You see, I "grew up" in the country. (Or the mountains, if you will). And once upon a time, I was always going to be a country girl. I was never going to be a city girl. NEVER. 

But, as will happen, life changes. And when I was fourteen, my family relocated right smack dab in the middle of the city in which I would never live. We sold our property and not-so-city friendly animals and I found myself in a true neighborhood with only my dogs and no ability to prove I was from the country. 

When you find yourself suddenly removed from everything with which you identify is when you discover where some of your insecurities lie. And I think some of my identity lay within being from the country. As if this was enough to simply make me better than anyone else. In reality, it was probably simply just my insecurity speaking up. I no longer had a horse, and other girls did. I no long lived miles away from the closest grocery store or could brag about the intense silence of where I lived, but other girls did. My identity consisting partially of just being from the country probably helped to make me rather insecure. The type of insecurity that brags the ability to horseback ride and the standard of only country music. And you know what? I really do not think anyone cared whether I could ride a horse, what animals I had owned, what music I listened to, or even where I was "from." 

And now... well now, I'm not really from the country or from the city. I like where I live and I would really like to live on a ranch or farm one day. But this doesn't mean that the battle of insecurity doesn't still tumble about my boat from time to time. And this leads me to where I have been trying to get all along...

Who, What, or Where Do We Identify With?

And does it matter? If the question pertains to whether someone spent most of their life in the country or spent most of their life in the city, I will go out on a limb and say, no, it does not really matter. Yes, it is important because those are experiences which you had. And that does matter. As far as being better than another person because one is simply born or raised somewhere or because one says y'all versus you all, that does not determine one's worth. 

But there is one Person I think it is good to identify with and to have your security in. When I go somewhere, when I say something, when I do something, I want to show that I am Christ's. His. I know I fail terribly at this but I also know that while I still feel insecure from time to time, I can be secure in the fact that I will ALWAYS, always be His. It isn't even telling people face up I am a Christian. Because it is not something I did of myself. It was all Jesus. He called me and He forgave me. And I want to show people that no matter what, I am loved so much by my Savior. By my King. By my Heavenly Father. I don't want to argue about where I am from and how I am better because of that, because I am not better. I am just as nasty as ever other person. We are all on the same level as far as being sinful and helpless goes. I am just SO glad that I have been forgiven by my wonderful Savior. I am so glad I am a child of the one true King. 

And so, while I still struggle with being insecure, while I still struggle with feeling like I have to be better, I am hoping I am learning to rest in the one thing that matters: I am a sinner. Jesus died for me and rose again. He has called me to repentance and has forgiven me. And I am His. 

(Yes, I did add some photos from where I used to live... and it was a pretty awesome place.)