Remember Who You Are

It has been said that every story is in some way an echo of the greater Story, the Gospel. I think there’s something to that. Recently, I sat in a children’s production of The Lion King and found myself unexpectedly overcome with emotion. I knew that the show would bring me joy. I mean, how can you keep from smiling when two dozen kids in jungle costumes break into dance as a precious girl dressed as a baboon leads the way with a giant stick? It wasn’t my laughter that surprised me. It was my tears.
If you remember the story, it is a “coming of age” tale about a young lion named Simba. Made in the image of his father, Mufasa, Simba is told about his rightful inheritance to bring peace and order over the entire animal kingdom. As a cub full of whimsy and wonder, he dreams about the day he will be king. But there’s an enemy hiding in plain sight, Simba’s uncle, Scar. Corrupt to his core and eager for power, Scar hatches a plan. He will lure young Simba out to a forbidden field as a golden opportunity to kill the king and to bury his heir under crippling shame and remorse.
Convinced he is responsible for his dad’s death, Simba escapes into a desert of hiding and self-numbing distraction. “Hakuna Matata” (“no worries”) replaces his inheritance, but Simba remains restless…until. One night looking at his mirror image in the water, Simba suddenly sees the eyes of his father looking back at him, arresting his shame and beckoning him to reclaim his name with four simple words.
“Remember who you are.”
At this point in the story, Simba turned to run home, just as the kids in the auditorium began to sing “He Lives in You,”…and I was a puddle on the floor.
Remember who you are.
It shook something in me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve believed in the God of the Bible. From my mid-teens, I have desired to know and follow him with everything I am. But, like Simba, I spent years hiding out in deserts of shame and self-numbing entertainment. I was “living my best life,” only it wasn’t. I heard that I was made to co-reign with my Father. I just couldn’t figure out how to bridge the chasm of failure and regrets that seemed to separate me from him. I didn’t know what to make of the distance, but I was certain it was my fault. This led to many years of striving, as I tried to conquer spiritual self-help plans that never delivered what they advertised.
And then, about 8 years ago in a hotel room, I had a Simba-like encounter where God shattered my fortress of shame. He asked, “Are you ready to stop being the Guardian of your Reputation and to become the Recipient of your Identity?” All at once, I could see the Father’s eyes looking back at me in my spiritual mirror. I was a beloved son, invited into intimacy.
Suddenly, I could breathe. I held my head higher. The Bible came alive. I couldn’t get enough of it. I also couldn’t shut up about any of it. I was my Beloved’s and he was mine! And this Good News wasn’t exclusive to me, but available to the whole world. Right now. I preached in a newfound power. I worshiped in freedom and abandon. I found my voice as a writer, and wrote a book, and then another. And then another.
But somewhere along the way, something happened.
People started looking to me as the person who had the answers. And I hardly realized it, but somewhere…I let them. I was still enraptured in the delight of sonship, a glory which only grew by the hour. But, looking upon the fields that were ripe for harvest, I began to grow burdened under false responsibilities and identities that I now see were not placed on me by my Father.
I knew who I was as a son, but I got lost in the woods of being a co-laborer, buried under the weight of the people and ministries that I needed to come through for, because after all, they were looking to me. I understood intimacy, but wrestled mightily in the stewardship of my inheritance.
It can happen in ministry.
It can happen as a parent.
It can happen as a spouse.
It can happen at your workplace.
And yes, it can even happen in pursuit of the very dreams God gave you in the first place.
If we aren’t careful, we can become so intent on being faithful to our mission that we begin to miss him.
After some years of this subtle but pervasive toxin, my body began to break under the pressure. Extreme fatigue. Dizziness. Struggling to catch my breath. Overnight, I went from a four times a week jogger in excellent health to a very weak man who struggled to get out of bed. I was surrounded by a host of precious intercessors, a litany of doctors’ appointments and medical tests, and a lot of waiting. In my stillness, I began to hear the echo of something I’d lost along the way:
“As a branch severed from the vine will not bear fruit, so your life will be fruitless unless you live your life intimately joined to mine. I am the sprouting vine and you’re my branches. As you live in union with me as your source, fruitfulness will stream from within you—but when you live separated from me you are powerless.”
John 15:4–5 TPT
I wasn’t anybody’s answer. I wasn’t a title, or a mantle, or a rescuer of anything. I was (and am) a branch, gloriously grafted into the One Vine who is the hope of the whole world. And, as a branch, I would only find fruitfulness in my calling through remembering my place in the redemptive drama.
I am Beloved.
I am Wanted.
I am Chosen.
I am Adopted.
I am a Minister of Reconciliation.
But in all of these, I am only ever called to move with my Father, never for him. Any independent endeavor I attempt to solve “for” God, no matter how well meaning, will fall far short of the glory he offers. He’s the Savior of the world, and he desires redemption for his creation more than I do. I’m invited as a vital part, but only as I follow him. I know this. And yet I forget it all the time. Praise God, he wrote grace into our narrative for both our shortsightedness and our forgetfulness.
“But when the Father sends the Spirit of Holiness, the One like me who sets you free, he will teach you all things in my name. And he will inspire you to remember every word that I’ve told you.”
John 14:26 TPT
God’s Spirit teaches us every time we encounter fresh revelation that empowers us to live, breathe, and dance upon fields we didn’t know existed before. But in all of the things that he already taught us that we’ve lost sight of along the way, he doesn’t chide us. He comes close to remind us.
There is no condemnation. There is only ever invitation. We have nowhere to rush to arrive, except back into the open arms of the Father who always delights to pull us close. So, how about you?
Where are you striving to outrun your past or to somehow attempt to earn your future?
There’s no grace in either of those places. His mercies and his delight are a gift of inexhaustible supply, and they are new every morning as you simply choose to “be still” again and remember that “He is God.”
Where are you so busy on mission for God, you’re missing the joy of being with him?
The enemy of your soul would love to bury you in shame and send you sulking into deserts of hiding and self-numbing distraction. Don’t buy it. He knows who you are…and he’s scared. Your King already banished him from his place, making a public spectacle of him. You, beloved one, needn’t fear him or anything else for that matter. Today, you are invited simply to breathe and do one thing.
Remember who you are.