Tag: identity

Everything we need

These reflections on God giving us everything we need are based on 2 Peter 1:3–11.

‘His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him’ (v3)

This is one of my favourite portions of scripture. We have already been looking at how God provides everything we need to truly be ourselves. Here we get an incredible summary of that fact! As we are getting near to the end of this devotional series, I wanted to include these verses as an exhortation to us all. They feel all the more poignant today, as it would have been my mum’s birthday. The passage speaks to me afresh of how God has everything I need for this season in my life. That is, for my grieving as well as every other area. But they also remind me of how well my mum made ‘every effort’ to grow in the qualities described – and spurred me on to do so too.

GROWING IN CHARACTER

It is precisely because God has given us everything we need, by allowing us to ‘participate in the divine nature’ (v4), that we are able to grow the qualities described here. These are character traits that enable us to be better people, more loving and more godly. But what is their purpose? ‘For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. But whoever does not have them is short-sighted and blind, forgetting that they have been cleansed from their past sins. (vv8–9). 

KNOWING GOD’S IDENTITY – AND OUR OWN

I find it fascinating that we are told twice that knowledge about God is essential (verses 3 and 8). For me, that reaffirms the importance of knowing who my God is – and who I truly am in Him. Without that knowledge, too easily we can fall for the lie that we can never be free from a particular sin or habit. Or the lie that we don’t deserve the salvation we have received.

When we are secure in God and our identity, we can put off what hinders us and, working with the Holy Spirit, develop ourselves further so that we reflect the nature of Jesus more and more. We can actively pursue spiritual maturity, living out God’s values in our daily lives.

Reflection: Reflect on what your life says about your faith. Does it reveal God’s kingdom…and are you growing? Finish by thanking God that He has given us everything we need to live out our lives well.

Child of God

Reflections based on John 1:9–13.

‘Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God’ (v12).

We have already looked at how God created not only the universe, but us too – and He took great care with each individual. It is important to remember that He is behind all our natural talents and gifts too. Before we start to look at ourselves and begin to feel even a whiff of pride, we should remember that without God ‘nothing was made that has been made’ (v3). Everything in creation is down to Him – us included. The basis for our sense of self, therefore, should be rooted only in Him.

Yes, we are each valuable and unique – but only in and through Him. I find that comforting, as it makes the idea of comparing ourselves to others a little foolish (although it is still something I so easily fall into doing).

Before the creation of time, God’s plan for salvation was at work too; to send Jesus, ‘the true light’, into the world. With His sacrifice, and our belief in Him, we have the right to call ourselves children of God; faith in His saving grace is all it takes to be adopted into His family.

If you have never asked Jesus to forgive your sins, dwell in your heart and change you from the inside out to be more like Him, can I urge you to do so today! And, if you have, remind yourself that, however you feel about yourself right now, and however you are treated by those around you, you are a child of the living God, the most powerful and loving being in the universe. How privileged you are to be able to call yourself His child!

Here is how John puts it in 1 John 3:1: ‘See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!’

Prayer: I thank You that everything I am is because of You. Since believing in You, I have been adopted into Your family and can call myself Your child. Amen!

Made in the image of God

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

Reflections based on Psalm 139:1–16.

‘I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made’ (v14)

So many of us can have trouble accepting ourselves for who we are. Our bodies in particular come under such scrutiny, often because of the huge amount of unhelpful messages we are bombarded with by society (in the form of ads, magazines, Facebook etc). We need to stop and remind ourselves regularly that we were created by God – and Genesis tells us that we are actually made in His image! 

I find this psalm so comforting – but also challenging. God is ever there; surrounding us at all times. But how often do we forget, when we are moaning that we’ve put on too much weight, or aren’t as attractive as one of the other women in church/work/at the school gate, that God formed us in our mothers’ wombs, and knew exactly what we would be like.

As we saw, God is most concerned with inner rather than outer appearance – and yet He still took the time to lovingly put our bodies together.

If you have ever spent any time looking in detail at the biology behind the human body, it is nothing short of miraculous. When I was pregnant with our children I used to read The Rough Guide to Pregnancy out to my husband. We would be amazed at the entries, which said things like, ‘this week your baby is growing fingernails’. God’s design for humans is mind-blowing! 

We are going to spend some time over the next few weeks looking at who God says we are, and how those truths should be feeding our sense of self. I wanted to start with the amazing truth that God, the creator of the universe, also decided, before the creation of the world, to create you and me. Isn’t that incredible?!

Prayer: Lord I’m sorry that I can spend time fixating on the parts of my body that I don’t like rather than thanking You for creating me. I am ‘wonderfully made’! Amen.

A healthy sense of self

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Reflections based on 1 Samuel 16:1–13.

‘People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart’ (v7)

As our children have just started a new term, I’ve decided it is a good time to start a new series of devotions (particularly after a bit of a break over the summer). So much has been shaken this year – including, for many of us, our sense of self. With much of our freedom limited for months, and many of us affected personally by Covid, we may feel quite different than we did at the start of the year. We listened to our son’s new headmaster give his ‘welcome back to school’ address last night; he recognised that the pupils will have been changed by lockdown – and that their personalities may be somewhat different too.

Whether we are going back to school or our workplace, starting a new school, as our son is, or simply trying to regain a sense of routine, embracing the challenges as well as the opportunities can be harder when we aren’t sure how to live out of a sense of who we truly are as Christians day by day. Too often we can live out of a warped sense of self, allowing those around us, or our circumstances, to influence who we are. We can struggle with our identity when, ultimately, it can only be found in Jesus. 

Part of stepping into who we are is learning to walk into the freedom already won for us, but the other part is about discipline and learning to cultivate the positive qualities of our new selves along with the help of the Holy Spirit.

So where does our sense of self come from? What we do, from what those around us think of us? What we think of ourselves? How do we measure ourselves? Is our first port of call to go to God and His Word to see what He says about us – or do we rely on what society is telling us and what it says we should be like?

I love the reminder that 1 Samuel gives us. God had told Samuel to go to the house of Jesse, as he would find the next king of Israel there. But his expectation of what the king would look like caused God to remind him that what is most important is what is going on inside a person – not their outer appearance. As we start this study on ‘self’, let’s not forget that the way we judge ourselves is so often different to the way God judges. He is most concerned about our spiritual wellbeing and about us coming into the fullness of what it means to be ‘new creations’ in Jesus.

Prayer: Thank You Lord that to understand who I truly am, I need only look to You. Help me, through the coming days, to learn to see myself as You see me. Amen.

Appealing to all…

Bobbie Ann Cole speaks to us about what she believes has changed in Christian Fiction, as well as explaining the inspiration behind her new book Being Lena Levi (shortlisted for the Eyelands Book Awards 2019).

Christian fiction is definitely changing. It was very clear to me at the Christian Resources Together event last year [Christian book trade event] that what was wanted by commissioning editors of Christian imprints was crossover material. By that I mean something that is perhaps less overtly Christian than in the past, to appeal to non-Christians as well as Christians. 

I see two drivers underpinning this. Firstly, many Christian bookshops, particularly independent Christian bookshops, have closed in recent years, so the market for books that are purely Christian has reduced. Secondly, and probably more importantly, is the realisation that a book can be a jolly good evangelical tool, if it can appeal to the non-Christian reader. 

I believe Being Lena Levi will appeal to non-Christians as well as Christians. It is the story of a young girl who discovers, in 1950, that she’s not the English Sunday Christian she thought, but the daughter of a Holocaust survivor now living on a kibbutz in Israel, ie she is Jewish. She sets out on a quest to find her true identity and, in the process, grows in her Christian faith. However, the tussle between one faith and the other – or none – is a legitimate part of Lena’s journey to work out who she is.

The book was inspired by the Bible story of King Solomon, who is presented with two mothers, both claiming the same child. He found in favour of the one who was willing to give up the child and deemed her the true mother. I wondered how it would be if both were willing to do that? And what would it take to make any mother give up a child? How would they react when that child subsequently rejected them? Because my heroine is furious with both mothers when she discovers the truth, which comes as a bombshell. The birth mother has waited five whole years since the end of the war to claim her daughter, while the adoptive one hasn’t told her she’s adopted. 

Being Lena Levi is set in Canterbury, where I now live. In 1950 it was still a mess of bomb sites. And it is also set in Israel, where I have previously lived. My own background is Jewish. I was claimed by Jesus 12 years ago, in a Jerusalem church where I thought I wasn’t supposed to be, while on a quest of my own for meaning and purpose. He picked me up, dusted me off and led me to meet and marry my Boaz of strong faith.  

In my book, I have highlighted the wonderful thing Britain did in bringing 10,000 Jewish children to live in England immediately before the war – the Kindertransport. They came on temporary visas, supposedly until things quietened down, when they would return to their families. Of course, it turned out that could never happen. By the end of the war, most of their families had been wiped out. 

In addition to my heroine’s quest for her true identity, I have intended through this book to subtly remind my readers – because many people today seem to have forgotten – why the United Nations created the State of Israel in 1948. Six million plus were murdered in the camps. The hatred shown to them in the countries they came from hardly incited the survivors to return there. The terrible abuse that they suffered was possible because Jews were stateless. It was vital they should have a place to call home…

Bobbie Ann Cole is the author of two Amazon No 1 bestselling Christian memoirs. Her debut novel, Being Lena Levi, was published in September on the  Instant Apostle imprint. She is available for talks and to teach Bible storying and creative writing: https://bobbieanncole.co.uk. 

Going natural

 

Last Sunday, our church hosted six baptisms. It was a beautiful service, in which we joined with another church that had asked if they could share our baptismal time as they have no facilities to baptise people. We were delighted to do so. As one of the young people about to be baptised shared their story, I knew I had to ask her afterwards if she would be happy for me to post it as part of the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. I’m so pleased she said yes, as she has a real way with words, and an important message to share…

I started my relationship with God when I was 17. I remember my exact prayer.

“Dear God…what am I doing here? How is this my life? How is this my journey? What do I have to do to change it? Who do I need to become to make sure I am never in this place again? Never this scared again? Never this alone?”

I got my answer from him in one simple word.

Mine.

I promised him on that day that I would try everything in my power to be who he wanted me to be. Who my family wanted me to be. Who I wanted me to be.

And I had no idea what I’d gotten myself into.

Six years later, I thought I’d finally figured it out. That I was finally on my way to knowing exactly who I was and putting that 17-year-old lost girl behind me.

But then it happened. A whisper of a comment about something so trivial no one would ever predict or understand the impact.

“You should let your hair go natural.”

I know. So simple. So un-exciting. But it kept coming up and after a couple months of uncertainty I suddenly got filled with the confidence to do it. So, I cut half my hair off and let my ‘fro-fly-free’ knowing full well it would not look beautiful or curly for probably years.

What I didn’t know was that I was in fact entering a whole new stage of that promise I had made at 17. That what I thought was a simple cosmetic choice was actually a deep dive into who I saw I was versus who God has always seen.

It took a week before it hit me.

A week of looking in the mirror not liking what I saw but constantly trying to reassure myself that “it’s ok, it’s just the beginning of the journey” … “it’s ok, you’ll be beautiful again one day” … A week of trying to get my fringe to stay down instead of sticking out of my forehead like a unicorn horn.

It was a tireless, relentless week of everyday routines I had to do to make sure that my ‘big decision’ didn’t result in my hair breaking apart and falling down around me. Needless to say, by day seven it had all caught up to me in waves. I was crying. Insistently. I thought, “Dear God. What have I done? Why am I suddenly so insecure? Why do I feel so exposed? Didn’t we put that 17-year-old girl to bed and move on?”

And that’s when the truth caught up to me.

It was never really about my hair. This story I’m telling you is not about my hair. It was about recognising the identity I have in Christ and appreciating the beauty in it, not the shame.

God took something he knew was precious to me (my hair), something I didn’t realise defined who I was – made me feel confident, beautiful etc – and gave me the inspiration and encouragement to make it authentic. To stop hiding it, covering it or forcing it into a submissive unhealthy state and to just let it be. To not look at all the damage, all the things that I hate, all the negatives and to focus on what it can be. What it will be if I continue to do all the things I know I need to do to it every day.

God showed me that’s how he sees us. How he sees me. When he looks at me, he doesn’t focus on all the things that are wrong with me. On all my mistakes, on all the things imperfect about me, on all the ways I know I annoy him. He sees who I can be. Who I will be if I continue to keep my focus on him and do all the things I know I need to do, every day.

I am not perfect. I am messy and tangled and frizzy and stubborn and difficult and it’s going to take a lifetime of constant battles, deep treatments, late-night routines and daily regimes before I start to look like the person God sees. But we’ve started the journey now. I made the promise at 17 and now I’m ready to honour that commitment and enter that new stage side-by-side with the person who has never left me. Who has now and always has looked at me, and seen something beautiful. Something worth the trouble.

So, to whoever is reading this, I want you to know. You are beautiful. You have always been beautiful. And you will be beautiful all the days of your life. Because you were fearfully and wonderfully made.

Nicole is a 23-year-old working in a start-up in Croydon with other young 20-year-olds. She says: “Either I have a passion for seeing things grow from the ground up or I am a sucker for pain. Either way, I know my desire to push through high-pressure situations comes from a family background of basketball, performing arts and athletes. I love to write, love to sing, but most importantly, I love being a child of God!”

 

Finding worth in Jesus

Anne le Tissier is a writer and speaker who has authored several books and has a passion to disciple Christians. Her latest book, The Mirror That Speaks Back, is centred around us finding our worth in Jesus, but is also deeply personal.

Firstly, I have known you as a regular contributor to magazines, often unpacking biblical texts, as well as a book writer. Has this always been your career, or did you have a different job? If the latter, what led you to pursue writing?

I pursued a career in investment banking after leaving school, but it was while taking a year out in my early twenties to travel the world and train with YWAM, that I first sensed God gently steering me into a new direction.

Travelling solo, my only company was a journal. I filled its pages, two lines of miniature writing to a space, sharing in intricate detail my experiences, what I felt God was teaching me, how I was feeling, etc. And that was how God ignited a desire to write. Mind you, it took another 14 years for my first book to be published.

You are extremely honest in this book: sharing personal experience of an eating disorder, abusive relationship and other difficulties. What led you to do that?

I’ve read a good number of teaching or self-help books, all of which have a part to play in helping people find healing from self-image issues. But when I was commissioned to write The Mirror That Speaks Back, I knew there was no point trying to duplicate what was already out there, not least, because I’m not qualified to.

I knew from the moment I prayed, God’s prompting to share my story. I’ll admit that wasn’t easy – I am by nature an extremely private person. So you can imagine my ‘wobbles’ while writing some of that story – I even suggested to my editor, close to publication, that a certain scene might be deleted (they quite rightly disagreed!). That said, I still left out great chunks of my story that were just too painful or inappropriate to put on the page.

The book is aimed particularly at women younger than you – why is that? Your publisher likens it to a letter written to such women – is that how you viewed the writing of it? And how differently did you approach writing this book to others you have written in the past?

I was specifically commissioned to write a book for younger women, which I admit, I didn’t find easy. It’s been a while since I was their age and it’s not my usual genre.

I developed a questionnaire to help me connect with the issues young women struggle with, and to hear their take on faith and life, from their cultural perspective. I sent it to a number of contacts who came my way, some of whom forwarded it on, and some who kindly arranged for me to visit their groups in person, where the girls/young women answered the questions face-to-face on the basis I kept them anonymous. I always went armed with a ‘thank you’ tin of homemade cake and they were all great fun as well as extremely honest with me, which I have to say, was a privilege. In fact, they even had to explain a few terms to me, like, ‘contouring’!  Other young women returned the questionnaire to me by email; again, on the basis I gave them a pseudonym. And there were a few who posted it back anonymously.

Interestingly, however, although the pressure comes through different formats (social media, for example), self-image issues today are much like those when I was young.

Consequently, my approach to writing the book was different to others I’ve written in that I tried to keep the sub-themes of each chapter as short and succinct as possible, plus, of course, I wove in young women’s responses into the text (anonymously).

But even as I was writing, I sensed the book had potential to speak into lives of older women too – and that has proved true, both from reviews and from readers who have contacted me; the eldest, age 86!

Why does body image have such a huge effect on our identity as women?

I’d like to say it’s part of today’s culture, but I looked into the history while researching Mirror, and it’s been around for centuries; longer even than when beauty was defined by a flawless white complexion, and women painted their faces with deadly poison (powdered lead). Just bring to mind images of ancient Egyptian women with their lithe figures, painted faces, stylised hair and banded gold jewellery, and you can see what a history we’ve inherited.

So here’s a short answer to a massive question. We all have an innate longing to be valued and loved, and if we can’t achieve that through some definition of success, intellectual capacity, level of income or the ability to conceive and birth children, some of us might look to our body to help us attain it. Too often, however, no matter how much we squeeze, starve, cut, nip, enlarge, reduce, paint or pierce our body, it is simply never enough: that source of worth we’ve relied on to feel good about ourselves or attractive to a man, washes off in the bath, grows septic with infection, gains weight with a holiday or long-term medication, disfigures with illness, or simply fades and wrinkles with age. And time after time we’re left feeling inadequate, unattractive, unwanted, incapable, ashamed and unworthy, all because we’re sourcing our identity from the wrong place.

You cover illness – both physical and mental – and what effect it can have on our sense of self. What did you own journey with illness teach you about your sense of self-worth, and what did you learn from the other women whose stories you include?

Some of what I learned from other women is included in the book, but as for my own sense of self with my health issues, the key thing I was reminded of was: Who is in control of my life; Who knows my first and last breath, Who determines my days, and Whose love and care for me through painful symptoms and anxious appointments, is of far greater value to me than what I can do or how I appear.

Why do you think we seem to measure success in how we compare to others? How can we combat that?

We’ve been comparing ourselves against others since the beginning of time; it must be a part of our fallen nature, instead of just comparing ourselves with God and pursuing His goals for us (remember Cain and Abel, Esau and Jacob… in fact, Satan tempted Eve to compare her wisdom with God’s, and look what that made her do!).

But making comparisons is a lose-lose conundrum. Compare and then feel better than others spawns ungodly pride and potentially feeds a brash ego; compare and then feel lesser than others and you start believing you’re worthless, a failure, unattractive… and/or you grow bitter and resentful and nurse a critical spirit.  But compare yourself only to the person God created you to be and the best of the potential He has called you to pursue, and you’ve got reason to get out of bed each day, reassurance when you fail that God is for you and will help you try again, and nothing short of immense gratitude when you hit your God-given goal.

The image used throughout the book is that of a mirror – that Jesus is the only one who offers us a mirror that reflects our true image – who we are meant to be, unlike the cultural mirrors that reflect back to us that we are not worthy. How did you come to understand the truth of Jesus’ mirror in your own life?

That happened over time as my personal relationship with God developed; as I rooted my heart and not just my head belief in His love. A fundamental key, however, was engaging with the Bible – not just reading it, but getting it right inside me where it’s living power could do its work; and then, responding to it.

Do you truly believe we can learn to be content in God in the midst of anything life throws at us? How do we do that if so?

It’s a tough one. I’m constantly challenged by the messages I put out there about God’s truth, and how a westernised view can be so different to someone who has lost home, family and work, say, in Syria. All I know is that Paul found contentment in all circumstances – and it doesn’t take much reading of the New Testament to learn just how awful and tough his life often was (shipwreck, stoning almost to death, 40 lashes, starving, homeless a lot of the time… I could go on!)

So contentment in God is a truth that needs to be taught, but also in today’s context, and I know from reading books and articles by individuals who have suffered immensely in countries where the Christian faith is persecuted, that they too learned that same spiritual contentment as Paul did, in the dire confines of prison.

I’ve certainly never suffered to those extremes, but this promise is for me too, and I’ve had to ‘learn’ it during seasons of life that I found disheartening, in times when God prompted me to make one choice when I’d have much preferred making another, when my physical health took an unexpected dive and the future was uncertain, and in periods of grief for loved ones.

As for the how, I can only pass on what I have learned from Paul:

‘I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ….I want to know Christ…’ Philippians 3:8,10

It’s that ‘knowing’ Jesus, and living out the belief that He truly is our everything, that we ‘learn to be content whatever the circumstances.’ Philippians 4:11

What are some of the real nuggets of wisdom you’ve discovered for truly reflecting Jesus rather than giving in to our vulnerabilities and inadequacies?

Self-assurance, inner poise, a quiet confidence, security, peace with oneself and with others. It’s awesome to be released from a withered way of living life, especially when you’ve endured it for many years; to be freed from a mental and emotional prison which has locked you up from Christ’s promise of ‘life to the full’ (John 10:10) in the darkness of fear and debilitation.

Dotted about the book are wonderful quotes from women celebrating the role models in their own life that have inspired them and helped them see past the shallowness of looks. How important do you think it is for us all to have those women who champion and encourage us?  

I think role models are a gift and inspiration provided we don’t idolise them ie provided we don’t set ourselves up to try to be their clone. Be inspired by characteristics you admire, but ask yourself how that might helpfully shape your own life within parameters of your own skills, experiences, opportunities, background etc.

What other writing projects do you have planned?

Aside of a set of Bible notes coming out next February (alongside yours) and a novel still looking for an agent, I am currently working on my next book, which is due out sometime next year…watch this space; too early to unveil the plot!

Anne is the author of a number of Christian books and has written a wide variety of Bible-study notes and magazine articles. She also speaks at conferences and in churches around the country, with a passion to disciple Christians in their ongoing walk with God.

Married to Neil, Anne is also Granny to her daughter’s three young boys. To relax she loves to read, grow her own vegetables, hike the hills, and, when time allows, cook special meals for close friends. But she still dreams of becoming a bee-keeper!

You can follow Anne’s musings on Twitter @AnneLeTiss, Instagram @anneletissier, or take a look at her website: www.anneletissier.com

 

You are not what you do

My plan is to continue with the Friday Unmasked series, whenever there is a story to share. In the meantime, here is an authentic lesson from my own life, which I’ve been learning – yet again!

I am looking forward to sharing at a women’s breakfast tomorrow morning. The title of this blog is lifted from my talk, although what I share below is not a sneak preview of the content 😉 So often I think we can cling to roles, and yet here is a reminder to look to God alone for our identity:

It’s often the very first question after we’ve been introduced to someone: ‘So, what do you do?’ That perpetuates the tendency we all have to link who we are with what we do. And yet we are so much more than our jobs.

A series of events and experiences in recent months has reminded me that I am not what I do – that my identity needs to be 100 per cent fixed on who I am in Christ, otherwise I will be shaken.

You see, God opened some doors of opportunity for me. I didn’t look for them – they were very definitely a gift from Him. I was really taken aback, and grateful, as they were all writing jobs.

Then circumstances beyond my control changed, and one of the jobs shifted significantly. My immediate response was to feel anxious and unsure of myself (even though I had just realised that ‘adventure’ really WAS the word God was giving me for the year). Oh Lord did you really need to pick that one?! I questioned Him, asking why He had given me something only to take it away again. I also felt defensive – worried that my reputation could be affected even though the changes had nothing to do with me.

God then spoke clearly to me about how, yet again, I was clinging onto roles – albeit legitimate ones – rather than Him to define who I am. I felt the challenge to let go and trust Him for what I would be doing workwise day by day.

God was incredibly gracious and confirmed that to me through words spoken by people I had only just met and therefore didn’t know my situation at all. And now, a few months later, I have now seen how God has been orchestrating everything behind the scenes. There are new opportunities on the horizon that I can see utilise my giftings and embrace what I feel called to. They reflect who I am, rather than me reflecting a role I have. It’s all been a matter of trusting God – and I still need to (believe me it hasn’t been easy at times) – but I’m beginning to discover what His amazing love and care has been achieving.

It can be really hard not to equate who we are with what we do for the majority of hours we are awake each day. And yet God has been reminding me to keep my eyes firmly fixed on Him alone as my source of security and identity. Yes it’s a lesson He has taught me many times before, but I know I need to keep being reminded of it – and I suspect that is true for many of you too.

Umasked: the complexities of being a chosen child

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I am delighted to welcome Philippa Linton to my website today, as she guests for the Unmasked: stories of authenticity blog series. Philippa is incredibly open and vulnerable about her journey as an adopted child…

I often watch Long Lost Family. It’s a good TV programme, done with sensitivity and respect. Any one of those stories could be mine.

I grew up knowing I was adopted. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know. My very favourite bedtime story as a small child was my mother telling me how she and Daddy had gone to a special house of babies and had picked me out especially. (I never wondered what became of the other babies.)

I even knew my original name, the one I was given by my birth mother (the correct term to use, not ‘real’ mother or ‘natural’ mother). This was unusual for my era (I was born in 1962), because adoption was very much a closed affair. Many adoptees from that time would not have known their original names.

The shadows appear

I had a (mostly) happy childhood, apart from some difficulties at school. I belonged to a large, loving, affectionate family. But there were shadows. When I was about eight years old, we were out on one of our family walks in a park, and suddenly, out of the blue, I asked my mother: ‘If my mummy saw me now, would she recognise me?’ My mother can’t remember how she responded to this (and neither can I) but, knowing her, she would have given a kind and wise reply. My question must have jolted her though.

The shadows also arose in dreams. I had occasional nightmares about being abandoned – in one dream, I was left stranded on the pavement, staring after my adoptive mother as she got in her car and drove away from me without a backward glance.

This terrible dream was not a comment on my relationship with my adoptive mother. She was – and is – a good, loving mother. The nightmare brought to the surface a fear I couldn’t express, indeed was hardly aware of – a deep fear of rejection and abandonment that the strong bond with my adoptive family couldn’t entirely heal. There was an empty space inside me. Certainly a God-shaped space, and also a ‘mother’-shaped space – and a ‘father-shaped’ space. My kind, funny, wise adoptive father was absolutely everything a father should be, but that space was still there.

My birth parents felt no more real than ghosts. It was impossible to believe that somewhere out there in the world were two people who had been responsible for bringing me into existence. Sometimes I would gaze into the mirror and wonder where my features came from – my light brown hair, my blue-grey eyes, the shape of my face. Whose genes had I inherited? Where had I come from? Who was I? Unanswerable questions. I shoved them to the back of my mind.

Finding faith

When I was fourteen, I became a Christian. I discovered Psalm 139, which spoke to me of a God who loves like a father. At the same time, my dad asked if I would like to see my adoption file. It contained my adoption certificate, and a series of letters from the secretary of the society that had processed the adoption. Those letters contained a precious quote from my birth mother, who said she knew she had done the right thing and that I would have everything in life I should have. (In later years, I learned to read between the lines of that letter: girls in her situation were expected to say that kind of thing as they gave up their precious babies.)

This was a big moment though. My birth mum had stepped forward from the shadows into the light. She was real. She was out there somewhere. But it would be a very long time before I felt ready to search for her.

The years went by. Something began to shift as I entered my early thirties. I hadn’t found a life-partner, and it looked as if I might never have children. I would be leaving no genetic trace of myself on this earth. As a Christian, this didn’t haunt me as much as it might have done – we believe in building an eternal legacy, not a purely earth-bound one. But the persistent vague feeling of emptiness, restlessness, the sense of something missing, was even more powerful than the desire to experience pregnancy and have children of my own.

Reaching a life-changing decision

In autumn 1996, my life changed. I watched a documentary on Channel 4 called Love Child, about four women who’d had to give up their babies for adoption in the 1960s. Despite the changing social attitudes of the sexual revolution, up until the late 1960s girls who got pregnant out of wedlock were still treated with great harshness. I had always been angry on behalf of that generation of women – I was incensed by the hypocrisy that would punish a woman for getting pregnant and yet at the same time refuse to condemn the man who had got her in that state. (I did come to understand that not every birth father of that generation was a callous seducer. Some young birth fathers were absolutely devastated that their children were given up for adoption – but, like their unmarried girlfriends, they were given no choice in the matter.)

I began watching that programme with no thought of tracing. I wanted to watch it because I’d never seen anything told from the birth parents’ point of view before. As the closing credits rolled, I had reached a life-changing decision. I decided to apply for a copy of my birth certificate and to search for my birth mother, which would also mean meeting with a social worker so she could access my birth records on my behalf. Once I’d made up my mind to begin this journey, there was no stopping me. I was 34 and knew that I had the emotional and spiritual maturity to cope with whatever I uncovered on my search. An inner voice was urging me, ‘You’ve got to do it now. Now. Do it NOW.’

I’m so glad I listened to that inner voice. The quest proved surprisingly easy in the end, thanks to a couple of extraordinary breakthroughs and the support of three fabulous social workers. To cut a long story short, I finally met my birth mother in October 1997, exactly a year after I set the wheels in motion. And I looked just like her.

A secure identity

We knew each other for thirteen years. Sadly, she died in 2010. I wish that we’d had longer. But I am so glad I searched. I had put her mind at rest: her lost daughter had at last found her. I also gained a wonderful new family, and remain in touch with them. I embrace my bonds by nurture and nature equally.

When I found my birth mum, something in me clicked into place. I felt more whole and secure in my identity. I celebrate being an adoptee, a chosen child much loved and cherished. It’s not my adoption I have an issue with – I love my adoptive family dearly and regard adoption as a blessing. It’s the relinquishment that is the issue, the ‘primal wound’ that results when you separate a child from his or her birth mother – for whatever reason, even if it’s a good reason (if the parent is abusive, for example). That primal wounding will haunt the adoptee all their days. Adoption is still a blessing. But the shadows have to be faced realistically, with eyes wide open.

I don’t want to suggest that reunions are a magical answer to a life-long struggle with rejection and identity. For non-adopted people, these stories of reunion between mother and child are romantic. I understand that, and indeed embrace it. But reunions are also complex. My story had a happy ending. But I know too that sometimes the parent doesn’t wish to be found, usually because facing the past is just too painful for them – especially if they were shamed and treated cruelly at the time. And sometimes it’s the adopted person who pulls away from the birth parent yearning for their lost child. There are also adoptees whose adoptions were a disaster – and when they trace their birth parents, that doesn’t work out either. My heart aches for them. I also ache for the children left stranded in the care system. No social worker, no matter how caring and professional, can be an adequate substitute for the lack of parents.

Making myself vulnerable

So what has the adoptee’s search for identity and origins got to do with wearing masks?

Writing this piece has made me feel shy about ‘unmasking’. It has made me open up about my inner feelings, which is risky, and that’s a good thing. Emotions hurt. Love hurts. Rejection hurts, so it feels safer to place yourself in a position where you can’t be rejected. There can still be a lost little girl inside me, despite the successful reunion, despite all the love and support I’ve had in my life, despite the inner healing that finding my identity in Christ brought.

And also – making myself really vulnerable here – I still wonder if my ambiguous attitude to a life-long singleness (I’ve had a couple of intense romances but nothing long-term ever developed) is connected to a deep fear that no man would ever be interested in me? If the man responsible for my conception had never shown an interest in me (this was always my assumption and it turned out to be correct), why would any other man? I know I mustn’t give into such a negative belief, and know I must forgive the shadowy man who fathered me.

It is these verses in particular that speak strength and healing to me:

‘Even though my father and mother have left me, Adonai will care for me.’
(Psalm 27:10, Complete Jewish Bible)

‘The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship.  And by him we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’ (Romans 8:15, NIV)

And of course Psalm 139:

13For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
15 My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Philippa Linton is a Lay Reader in a local Anglican church.  Her day job is working for the Education & Learning Department of the United Reformed Church.  She likes creative writing, going to the cinema and cats.