HIS

 It's been four months since I returned home from one of the most amazing trips of my life.  Truth be told, I actually started writing this entry right away after I returned from my trip, but it's been a four-month writing session.  As the months passed by I was constantly wondering why it wasn't all coming together fluidly.  My wife has been asking if I'm still working on it and I have to keep saying "Yes dear.  It's not right yet."  I assumed a busy summer, the start of a new school year, and my two active boys were the culprits of my distraction, but perhaps given the recent circumstances, the message I originally was going to share may even have more poignancy now.

In early June, I took my first flight across the pond to visit the country of Israel, a country I've read about and tried to picture in my head since I was a very tiny human.  Israel has always been an enormously important setting to the accounts I was raised with, and the faith I was brought up in.  There are no words that can describe being able to walk in the country that Jesus walked in and be at the places He once was.  It was so surreal.  In fact, the first thing our amazing guide G said to us when we stepped onto the bus upon arriving was "Welcome Home."  Simple.  Concise.  But it hit like a tidal wave.  98% of the people on our bus had never been to Israel before but we all knew G's words were true.  This was home.

The first morning after arriving and waking up in Tiberius, on the Sea of Galilee was otherworldly.  The sun hovering there on the horizon, shining down on the shimmering waters that once obeyed Jesus when He commanded them to be still mesmerized me.  I sat there for a long time reading and meditating.  There were so many moments like this: meditating in the wilderness where Jesus was tempted, being baptized in the Jordan River where He was baptized, taking communion at the garden tomb, and reading the scriptures in the actual places they were written about. Seeing these places and experiencing them tangibly and spiritually was purely indescribable.  The first few days I think all of us were running around in complete awe.  It was just so hard believing we were actually in the Holy Land.  We were constantly learning so much and putting sight to the places we'd only just read about.  There were so many little moments that I experienced with my group that were hugely monumental.  Things like; Galilean fish nibbling our toes, floating together in the Dead Sea, and experiencing and rejoicing each other’s baptisms in the Jordan River.  My group met and ate dinner with a beautiful Palestinian Christian family in their home, went on stuffed camel searches, and celebrated my birthday in Herod's fortress in Caesarea.  We had impromptu sunrise services over the Sea of Galilee and sang His praises on the stage of an ancient Roman theatre and pretty much everywhere else in Israel as well. 

His holy presence pressed in all the time.  You could feel it in the cool shaded desert breezes, the landscape screaming its history, and most definitely in His people.  His children I met there, His children I came with, and all of His children from every continent and country who we saw in passing, all there seeking Him.  To experience the land He lived in.  The place where He made the greatest sacrifice for all.  

There was one moment in particular that was so poignant.  So intimate.  That it was blatantly obvious that the creator of the world was speaking to me.  I guess it started one day earlier.  We were riding in and between all of these historic locations.  We were literally driving by and around Mount Carmel.  And G was pointing out other different important mountains.  At some point, someone jokingly mentioned something about Mount Rushmore.  Something inside of me immediately halted as if Abdullah our driver had slammed the brakes.  I didn't quite understand my own reaction at the moment.  I love Mount Rushmore.  I've been there twice.  It's neat.  It wasn’t really relevant to Israel, but doesn’t deserve that type of inner reaction.  I knew it meant something.  I just didn’t know what yet.  I could only assume it took me off guard because of the history here in Israel.  If you're a believer, this isn't just history.  It's part of your eternal story as a child of God.  This history is alive!  Still living.

The following day we explored ancient Bet' Shean and then left the Galilee region heading to Jerusalem.  It was on the long bus ride through the Jordan River Valley that I felt the Lord personally speaking to me.  The bus got unusually quiet.  Kenny wasn't popping any jokes and Martha wasn't laughing at them.  In fact, no one was even humorously yelling "Jimmy Boy" this or "Jimmy Boy" that.  It was just very, very, quiet.  

G had been talking earlier about how we were essentially driving the same path Jesus and the other Jews traveled when they were required to return to Jerusalem for Passover and the other required feasts.  I was imagining how it must have looked back then as the rolling green valley passed by.  The Roman road to one side and the Jews, not using it, but walking along the river because of its water source.  I immediately likened it to my own walk with Jesus.  In my normal life where distractions are quite abundant, do I walk right beside the source at all times or do I sometimes find myself on the Roman road?  Of course, I veer.  All humans do.  They can't help it.  And then in those moments when I notice the veering, I might try to give myself some slack by telling myself that I'm going in the right direction at any rate even if I didn't spend enough time with God that week.  There, on the bus, it felt so obvious to me that even just something as trivial as the way Jesus was traveling clearly modeled how Jesus wanted us to travel in this life.  With the source.  The ultimate source.  

I immediately heard Him telling me to strip my identity back to its foundational level.  I couldn't help just as immediately, thinking I didn't really have an identity problem because you know, I'm a believer.  I know who God is. And yet, simultaneously, because the word identity is so prevalent in our world culture right now, I couldn't help but instantly think about pronouns and labels people give themselves and each other.  I thought about how vile and contemptuous people treat each other with opposing worldviews.   I mean, civil discourse is all but extinct these days.  There is so much fighting and petty name-calling amongst political parties and societal groups where only one side can ever be correct.  And yet, in the chaos and barrage of wills and awful words, people create their identity despite opposition, saying things like, "I must live my truth.  I must be myself.  This is who I am."  

Before even finishing this thought, I knew this was not what He meant.  This is not the line of thinking he wants for anyone.  Especially someone who believes.  I heard Him so sweetly say, "You are mine and there's nothing else."  And in those words, I knew He meant that everything that I think I am and everything that has become part of my identity is merely a worldly experience.  The Mount Rushmore reaction completely made sense to me now because He was saying that being an American and a father and son are merely things I've done on this earthly journey.  They aren't me at my core.  They are lovely and special but don't accurately define who I am to Him.  The only thing I am is HIS.  My only pronoun will ever be HIS. Then he brought forth all of my fears, my anxiety, and my past traumas, and he gently reminded me that these are not my identity either.  These things will never define me to Him.  Don't get me wrong.  I've let them in my past.  I've put myself in a box so many times, let myself believe I couldn't get up from a paralytic mat more than I'd like to admit.  I’ve told myself people don’t really like me, or that I’m not good enough to sing on my worship team.  These irrational fears that I have are mere lies and those things I hate about myself are not my identity.  Because He says those are just worldly experiences.  Things I've journeyed through.  I’m HIS. That is my identity.

If you’re still reading and you’ve discovered like me, that you had some things you were clinging onto.  Some things you’ve journeyed through that you mistook for your identity.  You can let them go.  And if you don’t know Him, you can.  He can be your identity.  He’s already paid the price for you.  Already done the hard work.  You just have to ask him to be your Savior, to forgive your sins, and truly mean it.  That’s it.  If you prayed those things to Him.  I’m so happy for you.  Welcome to the family!  We’re not perfect.  We still struggle sometimes but His grace and sacrifice cover all things.

Since returning home I can’t stop thinking about how amazing and life-changing this trip was to me.  The bonds and memories forged are irreplaceable. Something once in a lifetime, forever etched on my heart. 

 And now seeing the current state of Israel; my heart breaks for them.  These terrorist-driven atrocities, kidnappings, and murders of innocent civilians is completely horrific.  I pray for all of the innocent civilians impacted by this in Israel and Gaza.  I pray for the country and people who welcomed me home there instantly.  These are not just distant strangers in a foreign land.  They are friends, families, mothers, and children, but most importantly, they are HIS.  Lord be with them.