Identity comes from understanding your place and how you fit in. Son, brother, that kind of thing. Sometimes, though, we take on an identity based on what we do.

My older brother died a war hero. I was the quiet one. The college boy. I thought if I got good grades and kept from getting drafted I was home free.

I was wrong.

But Jesus didn't save me to make my life easier or to give me what I wanted. He didn't even save me to help me feel good about myself. He saved me because He loved me. I never understood the depth and wonder of that love until I saw my own incurable brokenness.

Seeing that brokenness was only the beginning. Restoration comes but not without testing. I knew the tests weren't over. Far from it.