For the first 20 years of my faith-filled existence, I carried a script with me, learned my lines and occasionally ad-libbed. That well-used script was lost - burnt, drowned, destroyed - for some reason, and I find myself on stage without words. There is no-one to prompt me from the wings — a scary place. I went from rock-solid performance to being unsure and doubt-filled. It had to be. The arrogance of a brittle scroll had to be adjusted. The judgemental one had to feel the scorn of judgment.
Jesus remains my brand.
Making his logo (logos) known, my project
Wearing the brand and being the brand. All sounds good. But my identity is shaped by faith and conversely, my way of being shapes my faith. I prefer to think of my ‘contract’ with God as being a living and growing matter rather than the result of a hot iron permanently scarring my flesh.
I look in the mirror and see the beginning and know the end will be that beginning. I am the swimmer struggling to get back to shore after being drawn out wide. I find some peace in going back to the place of my innocence.