Faith in the Middle of Finding Identity and Purpose
Writer’s note to the readers:
Friends, this month’s Faith in the Middle story has a very tender place in my heart. It’s pieces of the story of my dear friend May Anne. I first met her in 2010 as I was entering my 4th year at the University of British Columbia and she was beginning her 1st. She is someone who puts a lot of thought and purpose to everything she does: from the food she eats, to the clothes she wears, the gifts she gives, and the work that she does. And so as I wrote her story, I wanted each word to matter, to be intentional. You may find that it ends not wrapped up in a pretty bow. I think that is the power of this story: we spend most of our life “in the middle,” where things are still confusing and messy.
It was an honour to give her voice a place to be heard. As you will discover as you read, this is a story about identity and purpose, but also about feeling silenced. I thought about making her story anonymous, but I felt strongly it would be as if I were silencing her all over again. In this story, I use the word gaslighting. This concept and word is one that is fairly new to the cultural lingo, but not to the world of psychology and counselling. Simply defined, gaslighting occurs when one person seeks to gain power and control over another by distorting reality and forcing them to question their own judgment, intuition, and sanity. I have found Dr. Alison Cook’s podcast, “The Best of You,” and specifically Episode 2 (linked here) where she talks about gaslighting, to be an extremely helpful resource.
Finally, it is important to note that while the lament portions of this story reflect heavily on my interview with May Anne and phrases and ideas we discussed, they are not direct quotes. That being said, this is May Anne’s story. As is the case in every situation that involves two or more imperfect humans, there is nuance and complexity and plenty of murky grey areas to be navigated. Because when we show up in a story, whether we are in the story or just listening to it, we bring with us those parts of our story that define and shape us and inform us. And so you may be tempted as you read, especially if you know May Anne, to insert yourself into her story. It takes intentional thought and energy to ‘listen’ for the sole purpose of hearing her. But it is a gift we can give her, and a gift I hope that you have had, or one day will experience.
So with open hearts and minds, here is May Anne’s story of Faith in the Middle of Finding Identity and Purpose.
This is a story of roots and trees, of being transplanted and uprooted. It is a story of searching for identity. It is also a story of bathroom floors. And asking the deep questions of God: Who am I? Where do I belong? Where is the purpose?
As a seedling, May Anne was a transplant: a migrant in a family of migrants. Hers is a rich Chinese heritage and a family history of migration to Malaysia. But her childhood was spent not in Malaysia, but in a small Islamic nation in South East Asia. A Christian family, their faith had to stay under the radar and could not be an open part of their identity. Every three years would bring the uncertainty of her father’s work visa renewal, and the family was always ready to move. In an international English school full of other transplants, this was not uncommon. And so for a time, a life without deep roots seemed normal.
Do you see me God?
Here on the bathroom floor?
Life doesn’t make sense:
What is the purpose of it all?
I have a plan that could end it all.
Should I?
Or is it possible that there is a reason?
Can all that is grey have colour?
Show me the colour.
Make clear the meaning of the things I do.
Pick me up off this floor.
As her branches began to grow, May Anne found herself transplanted again: this time across the expanse of the Pacific Ocean to Vancouver and the University of British Columbia. The year was 2010, and she had a full scholarship to study… trees. She grew in knowledge and ability, strengthening confidence and tapping into her gifts. Her branches joined with those of other bright young minds across the world as she had opportunities to lead and speak.
God, they keep asking me:
“Where are you from?”
But what I hear them ask is:
“Who are you? Where do you belong?
What is your purpose? What box can I put you in?”
You know who I am God.
I am May Anne.
Chinese-Malaysian, living in Canada as a student.
I speak Cantonese, Mandarin, Malaysian, and English.
I come from a family of migrants.
A transplant.
I am connected, and yet I don’t fully belong.
Not here, not there.
And every time they ask,
The old questions are raised once more.
I know they are curious, and most mean well,
But it hurts.
I listened to May Anne give a talk a few years ago, and I was moved by her perseverance as she continued to find her voice and her place, making sense of her life.
“Just like plants and animals have always been on the move, constantly being uprooted, transplanted and translocated... so have people. The bible is full of stories of people moving - of sojourners and travellers - of borders shifting, nations forming and falling. The story of how we became distinct, uniquely made, is just as important as the story that unites us as one. Because while the end of time paints a picture of God’s Kingdom in its full Glory, He chose to bring that about through the stories of people moving through time and space.”
How long God?
How long will it take for them to sort out this mess?
The mess that is my legal identity.
Yeye (grandpa) named me Chen Mei An.
Dad translated it to Then May Anne.
In Canada its May Anne Then.
And now? Now the paperwork is a mess,
And I feel as if no one knows who I truly am?
The truth is, I’m all those names.
And so much more.
You’ve given me an identity that will never be mixed up.
I am your child, adopted into your family.
I have a forever home waiting,
Where my roots will grow deep and strong.
But in the meantime, Lord…
Here in this broken world,
I just want to be known.
Upon graduation, May Anne thought that God would call her to leave Vancouver and on to the next place. The call never came. A few years after graduation, she was granted Permanent Resident status in Canada. She thought perhaps it was time for her tree to put down some roots. Logistically, this was comforting. No longer did she need to worry about logistics and renewing her visas every few years. But it also came with some scary unknowns: what it looked like to invest in the good of a place, to be fully present with a long term perspective, and holding also the prospect of one day possibly having to say goodbye and uproot.
One of the places May Anne put down roots was a church, a place that had become like home, where she had experienced growth and belonging. She invested much of herself: her time and energy, her creativity and unique gifts. It was a place where she found purpose and felt free to be every bit herself. The opportunity came for her to become a staff member and eventually to begin a masters program simultaneously. She had planted herself fully and faithfully. A few years later, May Anne would experience an uprooting, the most painful she had ever experienced.
O God, my heart is breaking.
What did I do? Where did I go wrong?
I have tried to make things right.
I have tried to seek help.
But this place that once was home
No longer feels safe.
This power struggle is poisoning the soil.
I find myself questioning my memory,
Needing to write down word for word,
The things said to me.
Am I going insane?
I’m told I don’t belong,
And I feel like an invasive species.
I’m told I’m too young and too different.
Where is my voice?
It is gone.
I expected this from the world,
But not from Your people.
Not from Your church.
Not in Your name.
How is this okay?
Why did You let this happen?
Her tree was ripped from the ground and cast aside. Over time, things at the church deteriorated, and eventually, she lost her job, her church family, her place in the masters program, and the place that had been home. Everything May Anne knew about what it looked like to be a God-follower fell apart. Hurt, heart-broken, confused, devastated: she was angry at God, at his people, at God for letting He people do that to her. Because of the gas-lighting she had experienced, her confidence was shattered like never before. She had come to expect the diminishing and silencing of her voice in the culture around her, in non secular situations. But not in this sacred place. It would be several years before she could enter a church community or building without anxiety or dread.
Do you see me God?
Here on the bathroom floor of my life.
Is it safe here with You?
Can I stay here awhile?
I’d rather be here, alone with you,
Than anywhere else.
God, I have some questions:
Will I be okay?
Is there a point to having a voice?
Where was the purpose in all this mess?
Will it ever not hurt?
Teach me the songs of lament.
May Anne married a man familiar with being a transplant. And they have a son. None of them hold a passport from the same country. And yet, together, they are trees whose roots have become intertwined with one another. Family. They hold the future with open hands, simultaneously putting out tentative roots while ready to be uprooted when the time comes. The healing is beginning, but May Anne is both content and humbled with the idea that she will never fully know the purpose. The purpose of the pain and tearing, or the purpose of the silencing. The purpose of the seasons and the places she has been planted into. Or even the purpose of her tree. Because all faith is in the middle. And that’s okay. I asked her what she knows now that she didn’t before. Her answer: that she KNOWS less about God now, but God is no longer just in her head, no longer living in just one part. There is a deeper knowing. A more intimate sense that He just is. And has always been. He has never left her side. Even if she can’t feel it… her roots have found a place that is more secure than any earthly place.
Keep knocking May Anne,
Keep asking questions.
I will sit with you.
I’d rather be here than anywhere else.
You are safe with me.
When you have nothing left to give,
It is enough. Because I am enough.
And there is purpose in the fact that I have you here.
I have created beauty within you.
Because you are created in my image,
Unique, one of a kind,
Reflecting my very DNA.
You are May Anne Then,
Daughter, sister, wife, mother, friend.
You are a sojourner,
And I have sent you on a journey.
The final destination;
A forever rootedness and flourishing found,
When I will welcome you home.
Because you are mine.
And I am.
If you find yourself on your own proverbial bathroom floor, I want to leave you these words from Ann Voskamp, found in her book “WayMaker”:
“The only place we ever need to arrive at is where we fall in love with God who suffers with us. The only place we ever need to be is the place where we know how much He enjoys being with us always. God’s curled around us, especially when we are curled in a fetal ball. God’s holding us behind the bathroom door. God’s wrapped around us in the middle of the sleepless night. And where we ache, He’s not ashamed to be with us. And there is no other place He’d rather be than with us.”
The photo above is one May Anne took a while back and shared to Instagram. Here is the caption she added to her post:
"I was excited to find fresh/young ginger at the farmer’s market this Saturday. I grew up hearing mum talk about using older ginger for this, younger ginger for that… ginger is not just one ingredient.
I then asked if they have flowers and the farmer said no, they’ve tried selling the stems but customers wanted them cut off anyway. “They never flower though. Do they have flowers?”.
That stuck with me. Because I know ginger flowers to be beautiful, fragrant, so much a part of the whole plant. Yet here, they never reach flowering stage and the flowers become a mysterious unknown - “gingers have flowers?”. The season’s too short, the cold sets in.
Lots of thoughts about translocation/ transplantation. What gets lost and eventually forgotten."