I have a weirdly deep-seated thing about describing, aka labeling, myself. When Moses encountered the Burning Bush in the Sinai desert, he bugged God to give him a name – you know – for credibility. He knew that no one would listen to Moses, because, after all, who was Moses but just another Bedouin?
I hate it when people ask me to describe myself because what I can offer them, short of a deep, metaphysical conversation best held over margaritas, is a list of roles I play: mom, wife, nurse practitioner, American, woman, Democrat, Christian. The problem is that words are symbols, and when it crops up in your mind, it comes with meanings that you automatically attach to it. There’s nothing wrong with that – it’s how our brains work, and it’s very useful. Until we stop there, and assume that, by “mom”, we all mean the same thing, or by “Christian”, we all believe the exact same things and worship in the same way.
Especially since all of those roles have evolved for me over a lifetime as I live ad read and think and pray more. I expect that other people go through the same kind of journeys. And sometimes, the roles – and the values associated with those roles – conflict, which I also suspect is not uncommon.
God responded to Moses by saying “I AM. Just tell them “I Am” sent you.” I believe that God rubbed His forehead and had both exasperation and compassion for the way human beings’ minds worked. Because, in my understanding, in all the created world, there is not anything that is NOT of God. How can you possibly define God in a sentence, a name, or a million libraries full of libraries full of libraries full of words?
So I will just describe myself by saying “I am”. I know that I have exhibited both heroic love and shameful, selfish cruelty at different times in my life. I am wicked smart, and dumb as a stump as well sometimes. Let the reader draw her own conclusions as we wander along together.