I’m thinking about the prompt in two ways. What happens to cause me to lose sight of whose and whom I am and what happens when I lose that vision? 

I lose that vision when I separate myself from people. Sometimes that looks like doomscrolling or looking for all the details about the most recent incident of injustice in communities that are important to me. Sometimes it looks like spending the time I have in person with people to complain about others or swap stories about the stupid thing someone said or did. I think that by focusing on my anger about a situation or spending time “othering” I feel like I’m doing something, like I’m engaging on the issue. Both of these activities have a way of swallowing time and attention – there is no bottom to the anger or despair I can feel if I keep digging for more information or seek out people just like me to commiserate about all the people who aren’t like “us.” In dehumanizing others I lose my own humanity. 

What does that look like? I flail about trying to recover or regain control. I’ll start a new blog or start commenting on every post I see. I’ll start planning new programs or approaches to take in my sphere of influence. I’ll order 4 new books to read that will help me unlock how to harness the anger or despair into action. I think I’m a little bit like what C.S. Lewis described as people running around with a fire extinguisher in a time of flood. When I’ve lost sight of whose and who I am I feel like I lose access to the power and light that comes with internal peace. I am “acted upon” rather than acting with intention in the way I seek out information or engage in conversation.

I wish I had good guardrails. I guess if I lose that vision when I separate myself from people, then practices that draws me to people helps me keep that vision. As I think about moments or periods in my life when I felt consistently centered, it is when I have been intentional in my contemplative practices, particularly starting the morning by previewing the day’s activities and conversations in prayer and then reviewing them again at night. I feel like this helps me invite God – and the perspective of whose and who I am – into my day. I also feel consistently centered when I am intentional in my interactions, particularly with my family, coworkers, and people I serve with in my church – people that I interact with the most. I am very intentional with people I don’t know; with close relationships I too often put them on autopilot. When I put my phone down, make it a point to listen to my children, spend moments with coworkers, or ask questions of fellow leaders at church, I find that helps me feel centered. I feel God’s presence in me from moment to moment and am more likely to see others that way. And when I see others that way I am able to be more gentle with myself in recognizing whose I am. Rather than running around with a fire extinguisher in time of flood, I feel like I’m in a rowboat, moving carefully, but with intention, to those in need.