This is a very deep word about knowing our identity. Karen Hardin shares from her own life story and how God healed her identity...or the lack there of...through a series of events.
Yes, the enemy would like nothing more than for you to not know who you are and whose you are! As a child of God, YOU are His and His alone!
I encourage you to read through this and let it bring any healing in your identity...as God has great need of you to walk out your identity in Him! (To Subscribe to the Elijah List subscribe here.)
Living Under Broken Perceptions
"It's too bad Karen isn't pretty..."
I was stunned at the comment, but even more stunned because of who spoke those words about me. It was my father. I stared at him, too shocked to comment or even cry at that moment (although plenty of tears came later). Thankfully, even though I was shocked into silence, my grandmother and husband were not.
"I don't know what's wrong with you," my grandmother spoke up first, fire dancing in her normally gentle eyes, "but your daughter is beautiful."
"She is gorgeous," my husband agreed immediately right on the heels of her comment. His arms on the table, he leaned in closer to my father as if challenging him to a dual.
I don't remember the rest of the conversation from that luncheon – only the words of my father which echoed over and over again in my head and heart... "Karen isn't pretty."
I was in my thirties at the time, and had struggled most of my life with self-worth. As a high functioning Type A personality, I have always been put in leadership roles and have received many comments regarding my strength, yet inside my world it looked much different because I had been denied the one thing we all need...identity.
| "...identity and destiny are wrapped into one. As long as we achieve our value only through what we do, we don't truly understand who we are." |
Identity theft is rampant in our world today. But I believe where this is taking place in the natural, it is simply a mirror of what has taken place in the spiritual realm where many have had their identity stolen and withheld. It is time for a turnaround.
Where Do We Begin to Restore Stolen Identity?
Fathers are the ones who impart identity to their children. That is not to remove mothers from the equation by any means. As a mother we impart much to our children. We are usually the first to recognize natural gifts and get a glimpse of their destiny. We train and teach. We speak words of encouragement and hope. We apply Band-Aids to scraped knees when they are young and as they get older to wounded hearts. And while many of us cook and use the family dinner table to instill a place of cohesion for our tribe, what simmers in our kitchens cannot hold a candle to what simmers in our heart poured out as prayers for our kids and their future.
Fathers, on the other hand, are given the role of leaders, protectors and providers. Yet when they don't fulfill their God-given role in the lives of their children, it can leave their offspring to wander through life much like a leaf floating in the wind. With each gust of air they are blown from one destination to another in search of a place to belong. When identity and value are not given, children will embark on a search to fill that gaping hole, for within each of us is an in-born desire to know who we are, why we are here, and that we are special.
Fathers are the ones called to instill identity, because they are a reflection of the Father—the One who created each of us uniquely special, who gives us identity. Sadly, many of us never got that memo.
You Can't Give What You Don't Possess
Before my dad is crucified in the minds of readers, I need to say that he loved me. He just had a very hard time expressing it. Reflecting back over his life there were many instances where he experienced rejection. He had a father who was an alcoholic and non-affirming. His parents divorced long before divorce was common or accepted. He carried within him rejection that lashed out in anger at each additional rejection. This brought on himself the very thing he despised – more rejection. Once older, when I could process these realities, I remembered... (continue reading)
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