I forgot who I am. For just a moment, I forgot.

The morning found me knowing. In a conversation with a friend, I spelled it all out clearly. I sounded so certain.

I curate story. I write words for the masses, find imagery to speak on its own. I am an advocate. I secure road signs with a hammer of hope, and clear the debris so they can be seen. I am an encourager. I walk and keep walking. Cheer and keep cheering. 

I am a mouthpiece. Redemption is the theme.

But even now, I am becoming. Right now. I am becoming. I’m finding myself much more focused on diving deep rather than skimming the surface of things. On investing rather than promoting. Strange words, coming from a marketing gal who gets paid to promote. Yes, I love to promote. I do. But there’s something more that’s happening. Something that is finding its way in me. I may tell stories for the masses. But the stories writing volumes in my heart are the ones that will likely never be published – save for a beautiful book in Heaven in which God pens, “That one – I hold her. And that one – I cherish him. And that one – never snatched away.” The stories I write are the legs under me. But the stories I am being written into by a most generous Savior are my knees hitting the floor in awestruck wonder and worship. 

At one time, that idea would have not delighted me because it wouldn’t have been great enough. Big enough. Powerful enough. But there it is now. Becoming.

The morning had me remembering. I even commemorated the moment with a photo – a perfect cactus blossom quietly tucked away from the noisy attention of the road.

And then I forgot.

All it took was a conversation about being known for our words. And being recognized for our words. And suddenly, I was caught up in the moment, lusting for the sparkle of the spotlight like a child chasing fireflies in the hopes of capturing the glow.

All the while, the moon was shining brightly.

I didn’t see its glow. And I forgot about the becoming.

Until a friend shook me and reminded me to look at the puddle of light I was standing in. She did it with a whisper that boomed like thunder in the chasing. You know that whisper. You’ve heard it before.

My friend reminded me to rejoice in the moonlight, to celebrate how perfectly placed we are when we are resting in the place God has appointed for us. How our voice carries to just the right people when we are in divine proximity. And how that voice we call “small” just might end up being the most powerful voice in the room when God is in it.

The strong, healing words of a friend helped shake away the forgetfulness. I wept repentant, redemptive, grateful tears of remembering again. Remembering to bask in the puddle of the moonlight rather than chase the sparkle of fireflies. Remembering to cherish the stories I get to be written into as much as the ones I write.

Today, I forgot. But now I remember. I curate story. Redemption is the theme.

And I am becoming.

*****

What do you need to remember today about what you’re becoming? What do you need to stop chasing – and need to begin basking in? What do you need to not forget? I’d love to know your story. And I’d love to pray for you.

And thank you to my sweet friend for being unafraid to whisper.