It’s an unusually windy, late June day at my happy place aka Lafayette Reservoir. I’m sitting on one of the fishing docks watching waves that are close to lapping up onto my shoes. Enjoying the breeze. Blogging away on my iPhone.

I did a double workout yesterday, so today I thought I’d take it easy instead of trying to trudge up those hills on tired legs. Or maybe it’s all just getting harder as I get older.

I have to confess that “the getting older thing” has hit me harder than I expected since turning fifty last October. Was it just coincidence that I’ve never really experienced run-impeding injury until this year? True, I should count it an incredible blessing to have run these last nine years and 200 or so races injury free.

But being injured to the point of giving up races this year brought with it more than the disappointment of the wasted race reg fees and pride of ruining a perfect track record (pun intended since I never ran track).

Being sidelined messed with much more than my bank account and ego. It really messed with my identity.

I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic; but during my season of injury, I honestly thought I may never be able to run or race again. And it made me question a lot of other things.

God’s timing is impeccable. Earlier this year I made some difficult career decisions. During this time, my oldest also wrapped up her college swim career, was set to graduate, and settle down five hundred miles away. Hubby’s growing business ventures had him traveling out of state more than before. A lot more. And add to all this, prepping our home to sell so we could downsize.

When you leave the only career you’ve ever loved, have kids that technically don’t need you anymore, watch your husband’s business dreams come to fruition, and box up decades of memories into cardboard boxes, it conjures up the perfect storm for an identity crisis.

In the back of my mind, I remember saying “At least I’ll always have running.” I probably shouldn’t have said that.

Shortly after, that hope came crashing down. Literally. I was home alone with my dog when I heard a huge crashing sound. Like the giant metal lid of a dumpster just fell. Oski and I just looked at each other then went about our business. Part of me was a little scared to investigate the source of the sound. I didn’t hear screaming from neighbors and my vicious attack beagle wasn’t alarmed, so I figured it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Hours later when I went upstairs for the night, I saw it. The wooden hanger with six hooks that had been displaying close to 200  race medals had come crashing down on my glass top desk below. I’m amazed it did not shatter. *Shout out to Crate & Barrel for making an indestructible glass desktop.

But there it was staring up at me now: My entire running career in an unorganized, tangled heap.

I’m typically the one in our family to clean up messes immediately. I hate when stuff is not put away, peanut butter knife on the counter, drawers and cabinet doors left open, toilet paper under vs over, etc. But I couldn’t bring myself to clean up the mess this sad pile of medals had left. It sat there for days. I tried not to look at it. Since Dave was coming home from another business trip soon and would probably need the desk space, I moved the entire pile over to the floor. And that pile sat there for weeks. It wasn’t until movers were scheduled to come haul away phase one of my downsizing efforts that I finally did something with my medals. It was harder than I thought it would be to box them all up. Why? After all, I never bothered to look at them after they’d been unceremoniously hung on the $19 clothing hook from Target.

But as I picked each one up from the pile, I couldn’t help but reflect back on each journey to the finish line that medal represented. And how much running meant to me. As well as how it had become a big part of my identity.

When you’re sidelined by injury and simultaneously boxing up nine years worth of race medals, this kind of messes with you. It felt like some sort of farewell ceremony. In fact, all the “identities” I’d held over the last decade seemed to be going into small, medium, and large moving boxes. Teacher, swim mom, homemaker, PTA president, parent of dependents, runner…

Sure, I’ve had various jobs over the last thirty years ranging from bank teller to aerobics instructor to weight loss consultant. But none of them seemed to define me.

I’ve never thought of teaching as a job. It’s who I was, and it was one of the most fulfilling roles I’ve ever held. When you wake up excited to go to “work” every day, you feel daily purpose and like you’re making some difference in the world. Similarly, I’ve never thought of running as a sport or exercise. It’s what I do and who I am. And it’s made all the difference in my little world for nine years.

I was back at the Lafayette Reservoir a few weeks ago. During my run, the song “Unashamed” by Building 429 came up on my iPod shuffle. It’s a song I’ve recycled on my run playlist over the years, but that day it hit me in a new way regarding this whole issue of identity.

“I’ve been down and broken
But I believe what you’ve spoken
You make all things new
I’ve witnessed your mercy
Stirred up all of your glory
And none compared to you
I can’t help but speak of the things you’ve done

So let my life proclaim
I am unashamed

I won’t hide your name
So all the world will know
That you
You are all that I live for
Jesus
I am unashamed”

I finished my run that day super pumped to blog about this answer to the cry of my heart – and how God was realigning my perspective with His own. I took some notes on my phone so I wouldn’t forget. I didn’t actually sit down to start this blog until now, but once again, God’s timing was perfect. Last Sunday’s message at church was all about identity. It solidified, filtered, and edited what I truly wanted to convey in this blog post:

God’s Word and His Holy Spirit give me my identity.

Wait. That’s it? I feel like I knew that already. But God knew I didn’t really know it in the way He intended. In a real, first-hand experiential, “NOW I get it” sort of way.

It is when I am at my weakest that my identity comes into question. It is the goal of the enemy, aka the Devil, to make me doubt my identity.

In fact, he tried this with Jesus in the desert 2,000 years ago. After Jesus had been fasting forty days and at His weakest, he took that opportunity to make Jesus question who He was by putting three areas to the test: provision, protection, and power. Basically, he wanted to get at the stuff that would make Jesus give up trusting completely in what He already had with God. And who He was with God.

Sure, that was 2,000 years ago AND after all, it was Jesus – Son of God. So how does that relate to me today? Well, think about it for a moment. If the Devil was giving me a similar test today, what would it look like?

Well, it might involve career, children, marriage, home, health, and even running.

Hmmm, so when I think about this some more, does the enemy reeeally care if I’m a teacher, mother, housewife, business owner, or runner? Nope. What hits him at his core is that I know who I am in Christ.

And this answers the question of purpose and calling. In this next chapter of my life, I don’t have to question whether there is meaning in the mundane. Not everyone has to be a teacher to make an impact on students. Or a mom writing notes to put in her kids’ lunchboxes. Or a runner blogging about how strength to cross a finish line came from Jesus. Impact is not the same as identity. It is the result of knowing your true identity. And from Whom it comes.

“Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory. We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.” Romans 5:1-5