Two years ago today, I was completing the monumental task of sorting drawers upon drawers of expandable file folders in my private office, each representing months or even years of casework for my federal employer. As I boxed away files for storage and transferred others to fellow colleagues, memories passed through my mind like flipped drawings in a legal pad. I could see names and faces of colleagues that I worked with, locations where I traveled to complete my work. I also boxed up knickknacks, photo frames, awards, and personal belongings, the detritus of my 8 ½-year career as a government attorney.

I turned off the light to my office for the last time. I said tearful goodbyes to friends, colleagues, and mentors. In that moment, I could hardly comprehend that I was leaving (or at least putting on hold) my 11-year career as an attorney to transition to “long-term missionary” service in Africa.

To be honest, I struggled a lot with my identity in the six months that followed before we actually departed for the field. For 14 years (most of my professional life, including three years of advanced education), I defined myself as an attorney. In many respects, my life plan centered around that identity. Out of law school, I joined a big firm, captivated by the prospect of becoming a partner, maintaining my own client base and reaping the financial and status benefits of “owning” my share of the firm.

I felt the pull of something more when I left billable hours to join government service. Turns out that while the work hours were statutorily regulated, the workload was just as stressful and challenging. Thankfully, my bosses were devout followers of Jesus, so they understood the pressures and conflicting emotions better than other attorneys I had worked for. I even told my lead supervisor that if I ever left government service, it would be to serve in full-time ministry.

Funny thing about identity when you are seeking after Christ. When you truly, whole-heartedly devote your soul to that pursuit, He tends to reshape how you define yourself. Not by career choice, salary, where you live, familial, marital or parental status, or other inadequate identities that we choose or accept. Rather, He defines us by who He says we are in Him. Adopted children. Joint heirs with Jesus. Beloved. Forgiven. Fully and unconditionally loved. Disciples. Kingdom-bearers. Salt and light. And so much more that only He can reveal to my heart as His uniquely-created daughter.

It’s not wrong to love being an attorney or even to miss the work, as I sometimes do. Yet it cannot define how I see myself. Nor can I define myself as being a long-term missionary. That label has its own traps and snares of pride and/or false humility. Oftentimes with fits and starts, I am trying to abide in the identity that God has given me. His own.

Today, as I look out my office window, I see a very different view than two years ago. I see smartly uniformed children laughing, playing, and running in the courtyard between my building and the school of nearly 1,300 students on the other side. Kids who grew up in one of the most impoverished corners of the world receiving the opportunities that education affords and (hopefully) the Christ whom I serve. I hear their joyful laughter, shouts, and songs, the soundtrack of kids just being kids. It sounds like hope and Good News in the flesh. It looks a lot like being identified with Christ.