I’ve always felt uncomfortable saying, “I am a musician.” Not that this isn’t true. It’s what I do. But it’s not what I am. You can say you’re a librarian, a sports player, a pet owner, but most ways you answer that, it’s something that could be taken away.

You could get fired from your job. Injured and have to quit the team. Heaven forbid, McFluffers passes away. I’m being extreme here to discuss my point. (My childhood pet passed away, and his little paw print hole in the heart never leaves)

Who you are is an unshakeable truth. Someone can’t decide it for you, and you can’t lose it or have it stolen (unless we’re talking financial identity…that’s too easily hijacked these days).

I struggle with saying, “I’m a musician,” because at one point, I almost lost it. Right before junior year of college, my arm locked up in practice from overuse, and I had some pretty serious tendinitis. My world shattered. I couldn’t play. And thus, I couldn’t move forward in my music classes. I didn’t know if I was going to heal or heal well enough to keep going. Who was I then? A sad, sorry girl robbed of her musical ability through playing music (oh, the irony)?

No, I was still Natalie. Still a child of God who He loved before time began and will unconditionally love for my whole life. For me, this is where my identity lies. He holds my value, and it’s not what I can do or not do. Not when I succeed or fail (and that happens, a lot). This can’t be lost or taken.

So you’re not left on a cliff-hanger, I ended up healing and continuing on with music, but you know what? I learned to play more relaxed. There’s a lot more to that healing journey, but perhaps I stopped trying to earn my worth. Jesus already gave it to me.

How precious to me are your thoughts, God!

How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

they would outnumber the grains of sand—

when I awake, I am still with you.

Psalm 139: 17-18 NIV