Maybe the worship band sang and played in vain that morning, who knows. But my foot tapped out of rhythm, and I couldn’t wait to get done with church.
“I am loved … La, la, la.”
I could not sing along, let alone believe the words penned by well-meaning fellow travelers. My cynical attitude did not take a Sabbath rest. It clung to me like gum to the sole of a sandal on a hot summer day. Disillusionment and this gap between how things should have turned out and the way they were, felt like a dark canyon in front of me. I stood on one side and all the happy world on the other. I swallowed my tears and wowed to myself I would not cry. Not again. Not today.
“I am … La, la, la,” the music droned.
“I am tired, so tired.” My lips didn’t move.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head, tried to find solace under the vibrating speakers above me. Maybe I could make myself feel what the lyrics said about me. Maybe I needed to try harder and just believe them. But maybe my heart had finally grown cold. Jesus had warned his followers to not let it happen, no matter how much evil and wickedness they would see around them. I fisted my hands in my pockets and noticed how weak they were – how weak I was.
“Teach my heart to worship you, Lord. Help me. I need you to do it.”
“Tell me who I am in this,” answered a peaceful and still voice. It was clearly not mine but was gentler and kinder. Though silent, I heard it loud and clear. It overpowered the song of the congregation, who obviously believed who they were as they sang and swayed to the music. Then, like a father who cups his child’s face in his hands for her attention, ready to speak truth into her heart, I again heard my Heavenly Father’s voice:
“Tell me who I am in this.”
I knew immediately what He meant, saw clearly what “this” was. This was shame and condemnation which had woken me so many nights of late, kept me up only to rehearse events and conversations, over and over. This was guilt which dragged long into the day, this darkness that didn’t leave – even with the sunrise.
This was loneliness and this was emptiness, this absence of friends who I had hoped would be there. This was the many times I had checked my phone in vain to see if I had missed their calls. This was the great disappointment over my inability to love like I should have, and this was the even greater sadness of being loved less than I had hoped. This was the powerlessness to move through anger and grief alone. This was the line which Solzhenitsyn called “the line dividing good and evil which cuts through the heart of every human being.” I knew this line, had felt it in me.
“Tell me who I am in this.” He prompted again.
“You are a forgiving God.” I replied inaudibly. I saw the faces in my mind which had made me so angry. I saw myself, needy of His forgiveness.
“You are a friend who never leaves nor forsakes. You are the God who sees, and knows, and loves despite.” My mind dug deeper and deeper into the truths, into God’s Word, into the passages I had learned and taught about Him on brighter days, on days full of joy and faith.
With each remembrance of “this” and the recalling of the Scriptures, with each instance I laid down and told Him who He was in it, I felt lighter. His truths became alive with every provisions for “this”. This loneliness, this abandonment, this unforgiveness, this loss of relationships, even this betrayal, made me think of Jesus. He already knew, had gone through it Himself, remained God despite it all.
My mind is fickle. My feelings are too. Today, I might believe who I am in Him, and given the right painful struggles, I might doubt again who I am and am supposed to be. I realize that who I am is not as important as who He is. The I AM, the Lord who is in each moment of my day, who has been (and will be) in each instance of every moment that follows, is able to judge “this” justly. He may tell me at times who I am, but more likely, and when I ask, He will show me who He is – all-knowing, all-powerful, and altogether a good and loving Father.
“Lord, teach my heart to worship you and continue to tell you who you are in this, no matter what this might be.”
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, if indeed you continue in the faith, stable and steadfast, not shifting from the hope of the gospel that you heard, which has been proclaimed in all creation under heaven, and of which I, Paul, became a minister.
–Colossians 1:16-17
(Scriptures taken from the ESV
Essay and photos ©2026 Heidi Viars)
Heidi Viars 
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