Who am I Essays

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"Who am I?"

Satan has no new schemes up his sleeve. He knows he is a beaten foe, so the only recourse he can think of is to pit our own flaws and failings against us to make us feel inadequate in God's plan. If he can cause us to doubt that we can be used of God than he has won a huge battle.

I love the scene in the Lion King when Simba is grown to a young adult and he is having a conversation with the Rafiki in the field. Simba is looking back at the mistakes of his past and feeling so much guilt and Rafiki smakes him on the head with his stick. Simba says, "that hurt!"

Rafiki says, "I know, but it's in the past."

Your past is just that, THE PAST. It has no hold on you. You are a new creation in Christ. Old things, lives, mistakes, hurts, pain....is in the past and is to be no more of who you are now.

Celebrate the new you in Christ, He has wonderful plans for you and all the help available for the asking.

Thank you, Barbie. What a wonderful reminder to let the past stay in the past, and press on to the future. I am ready to celebrate!
Very nicely done,
Linda

Thank you, Cortney. If it was not for God, I do not know where I would be today, either.
Very nicely expressed,
Linda

Thanks, Mikki for this excellent submission.
LC

Grandma's porcelain skin, graced ever so softly with tiny brown speckles. Her legs are slender but strong, her knees covered with fresh earth. As she stood she gathered her blue trimmed apron together with one hand, gently, so as not to bruise the red ripe tomatoes. While in the other hand, she carried a whitechipped pail of savory strawberries. With her shoulder she reached up to wipe the sweat from her forehead, catching it just before it ran down into her eyes and at the same time arching her wrist, carefully balancing the pail of berries.

I continued to play, pushing my doll carriage up and down the hill. I stopped to watch as Grandpa stood in the shade of the old gray barn, brushing a chestnut mare till it shined like a new penny. I busied myself with my baby-doll in her lavender satiny dress. My faded tin dishes, trimmed a sage green with delicate pink flowers clinked together as I washed them like grandma had taught me. And Grandma was busy herself.

She washed the small harvest she had just plucked from the vine, still warm in her hands from the hot sun. She dried her hands on her apron's skirt tail and placed a tub of water on the cook stove to heat for her daily chores.

It was getting on in the day and I felt my tummy rumble. I could hear grandma singing from the wash-house as she rhythmically scrubbed back and forth and back and forth on her old scrub board, the corners slick and shiny from so many washings. She turned grandpa's dingy clothes a bright white.

I hurried in the back door, the old gruff screen door screeched it's welcome and then blammed shut. There it was, sitting where grandma left it, waiting just for me. A fresh bowl of strawberries and cream, sweetened with a spoonful of sugar and a prayer.

It was always the biggest treat to rush in the back door to find my bowl of berries sitting on the table. And my grandma's little knees, covered with the fresh earth as she knelt to pick those strawberries. And as she knelt, she prayed. She prayed for each of her children, grandchildren, and my grandpa. She always sought out little niches of time as if it were a treasure, and never put off anything she could do today.

As the years flew by and her body became frail with age, she told me she missed being able to kneel down on her knees to pray and holding a handful of fresh warm soil in her hands. I wonder if she knows that I finally see the wisdom in such humble and simple accounts. Thank you Lord for my Grandma's dirty knees.