Have you ever had an identity crisis? You know that place in time where you question who you are and what your purpose in life is. In my case I have had a few.
The first time was when I had just graduated from high school, had no skills, and realized I had to make my own way in the world. Up until that time I had been a responsible student, introverted teen, and loving but sometimes rebellious daughter. I had no clue how to become a functioning member of society. It took the mentoring of a former high school teacher and the honesty of a boss who terminated me to get there.
My next struggle came when I gave birth to my daughter. I was a somewhat viable citizen making $90 every two weeks and was terrified that I would fail at being a parent while desperately wanting to be the best mom possible. Growth came as I found the courage to move from job to job in pursuit of the necessary skills to bring in a decent living. My type A personality came in handy for absorbing and gaining information quickly. I learned to be adaptable in applying the knowledge I gained so that I could train others to be able to step in to replace me when I left.
Motherhood was a different story. It was a day by day process in which I made a lot of mistakes but I also got some things right. In the end my baby grew up to have children of her own giving me the gift of being a grandparent. Now I am watching her make her own journey through the terrain of motherhood. And while our paths have not been the same her adventure has been a joy to watch.
Transitioning from a mom to an empty nesting caretaker of my mother presented another challenge. I had wrapped my identity up in being a single mother with a focus on providing well for my child. Now my child was out of the home, married, and a mother herself. In the meantime my mom’s health was declining so she required my care. My time was divided between working full-time, stopping by to check on my daughter who was having trouble carrying the baby and caring for my mother. I totally lost who I was. My identity became intertwined with the roles I was carrying out rather than who I was as a person.
Mom has been gone now nine years last month. I find that during this quarantine I have had the time to really focus on who I am a part from all the roles.
My birth names means Beloved Gift of God. When I was younger I used to ask my mom why they gave me such an unusual name. She said they were only expecting to have one child so they took letters from her name and letters from my dad’s then threw in the “Z” for good luck. I never really put much stock in my name until now. What would it look like to live up to my name “Beloved Gift of God.” I am coming to realize it is not about being the beloved of man but to be the beloved of God. In that I can relax and stop trying to please those around me. God’s been telling me for years to just be. Stop running the rat race. Stop trying to be someone I am not. Just be and rest in Him for surely then I will find true rest.
I have two nick names given to me: one given to me by my mother and the other by one of my past co-workers. My mother nicknamed me Zori which means light of the dawn. She came to the restaurant to have dinner while I was working one night. Amazed at how quickly I moved from table to table taking care of my customers she said it was like I was wearing roller skates. It was my Type A personality kicking in. I wanted to make lots of tips, have my customers come in asking for my tables, and make people happy. Mom said it reminded her of when I ran around the house using whatever long object I could find as a sword to carve Z for Zorro, my favorite superhero. Thus I was nicknamed a female version of his name.
By nature I am usually an upbeat person. When I worked in an optical lab 25 years ago I would sing, hum, and whistle as I wandered about the lab checking on my lens jobs. One of my co-workers nicknamed me Songbird as a result. Somewhere along the way I lost my joy of singing while performing the monotonous tasks of life. During this quarantine I have rediscovered my joy of whistling while I work. I have even begun to to sing again from time to time.
Around the same time that I worked at the optical lab I attended Faith Community Church. While sitting in a women’s service the leader of the prayer team approached me. She had been observing me for some time unbeknownst to me. In her observance she had noticed I was a strong prayer warrior and invited me to be a part of the team. This was not something that I had ever thought of myself as. I knew I loved to worship and seemed to have a gift for it but prayer never felt like my strong suit. As I have matured in life I have found that I prefer to pray about issues rather than fight about them. I have always been reticent to fight and much prefer being in the background observing rather than the center of attention.
My final nickname came from a chance encounter. We were attending the Los Angeles County fair when I heard the most haunting but lovely melody coming from one of the vendor tents. My mom and I made our way over and stepped inside. It was filled with all sorts of Native American goods. The man behind the counter was playing a Native American flute. While I stood mesmerized, my mom wandered through the shop. The sound of the flute seemed to touch something deep within my soul, so much so that I began to cry silent tears. They were not tears of sadness nor of joy but it was as though I had finally come home.
As the last note played mom called me over to where she was. There standing next to her was an old man with long gray braids hanging neatly beneath a brown leather cowboy hat. He was dressed in brown jeans, a plaid shirt, and a leather belt with a beautiful beaded buckle. It wasn’t so much his manner of dress that made him stand out. Rather it was his bearing. He stood straight and tall with a sense of dignity as though he were royalty. When he caught my gaze he held it for a time. His eyes were kind and full of a deep wisdom. At last he spoke. Although his voice was gentle it held a note of authority to it. The man who had been playing the flute had come over to join us. He interpreted what the old man said since he spoke in the Cherokee language.
The flute player said the old man was a Cherokee Indian Chief. He had enjoyed meeting my mother but my mother insisted that he meet me. She had told the chief that we were part Cherokee. He said the chief saw something in me which is why he held my gaze. The chief named me Usdi Walela, “Little Hummingbird”. He said the hummingbird is a prized warrior among the Cherokee people. It does not fight in the usual way but frightens off the enemy by the humming of its wings. According to the chief the hummingbird is also prized for its beauty (something I have never thought of myself as). Mom and I were more than a little awed that an Indian chief would take notice of me much less give me a name. From that point forward it has remained a interesting memory tucked away as a keepsake. Mom learned to draw before she died and gave me two beautiful drawings of hummingbirds as a reminder of the experience.
The day the COVID 19 seclusion began in California with the shutdown of our schools happened to be my 55th birthday. I had big plans for the day. Breakfast with my friends was on the schedule as well as lunch with my daughter and a mutual friend. I was going to go shopping all day and take advantage of as many senior discounts as possible. Then I hoped to have a lovely dinner with my family. The next weekend we were to celebrate with a party. I had planned to go to the racetrack to fulfill a lifelong dream of driving a race car. Most importantly I was going to get out of my introverted shell and join the Vintage Vine group at church. I figured I could make new friends while enjoying fun activities with the senior group.
Instead I had a delightful birthday breakfast with my friends, enjoyed a quiet lunch with my daughter, and then the whole world changed. We picked up the kids from school with all the gear they would need to do school from home indefinitely. We found one restaurant still open to have a birthday dinner but it was not my first choice. Shortly thereafter I was told to work from home for the indefinite future. At the time of this writing it is 7 months later. The kids are still doing school from home and I am still working from home. We order pretty much everything online and have it delivered or go for a touchless curbside pickup. Gone are all the activities and socializing. It has not been hard for me as an introvert but it has been hard on the extroverts, my daughter and grandchildren.
I have used this time for a lot of self reflection and prayer. At 55 I reached another crossroads. One that I thought I had the answers to but I was wrong. It was never about breaking out of my shell and becoming other. It was about finally being free to be me. All of my nicknames were born out of who I was not just randomly given. The combination of two, Zori and Songbird became my alter ego for writing and performing, Zori Songbird. Meanwhile the rest of them have been quietly waiting on me to come into my own skin, shedding the need to please others, and learn to just be. I am not there yet but I am getting there.
I am the Beloved Gift of God, Light of the Dawn, Singing Bird, Little Warrior of Peace (translation – Worshipping Prayer Warrior seeking and sharing the light and love of God). Just be.
heartsong313 