Walking the Way
By Robert White | Enspirit.blog
“When you remember who you are, what will you become?” Rumi once asked that question, and it remains a defining question for all of us.
If you prefer a more modern version, think of The Lion King. Simba, the young lion, stares into the reflection pool and hears the voice of his father: “Simba, you are more than you have become.”
That could be said of most of us, couldn’t it? More than we have become. More than we’ve allowed ourselves to grow into. More than the small, careful lives we’ve constructed to keep ourselves safe.
And perhaps the reason is just what Rumi was pointing toward—we’ve forgotten who we are.
The Great Forgetting
Maybe we’ve grown apathetic, worn down by disappointments that we’ve experienced. Maybe we’ve grown tired from carrying responsibilities that were never ours to bear. Maybe we’ve simply settled, convinced that this smaller version of ourselves is all we can manage.
But beneath all that—beneath the resignation and the playing it safe—the real issue is forgetfulness. We’ve forgotten our truest identity. Lost the thread of who we were before the world told us who we should be.
We’ve mistaken our roles for our identity. Our failures for our worth. Our wounds for our name.
But none of that is who you are.
The Truth Beneath the Truth
Who are we, really? Strip away the titles, the achievements, the mistakes, the labels others have placed on us. Peel back the layers of performance and pretense. What remains?
We are beloved.
Unconditionally loved and valued. Embraced by the Creator who spoke life into us with the same breath that hung the stars. There is a deep, unshakable love that has already claimed you. Already named you. Already declared its embrace over who you are—not who you might become, not who you should be, but who you are right now, in this moment, with all your beautiful imperfections.
This isn’t conditional love that depends on your performance. This isn’t earned affection that fluctuates with your behavior. This is the bedrock truth of your existence: you are loved, not because of what you do, but because of whose you are.
What Changes When We Remember
If we could lean into that—if we could trust it, live from it—so much of life’s struggle would lose its grip on us. So much of our striving, stress, and competition would fade like mist in morning sunlight.
The endless need to prove ourselves begins to slip away. We can let go of appearances and simply be—present, whole, enough.
The fear of rejection loses its power when you remember you’re already accepted. The compulsion to perform crumbles when you realize your worth isn’t up for debate. The anxiety about not being enough dissolves in the face of unconditional love.
Even the divisions that fracture our world could soften if we learned to live from the center of this reality: that every one of us—every single person you meet—has already been embraced by love so deep, so divine, it defines who we are. The person who cuts you off in traffic. The neighbor whose politics make your blood boil. The family member who pushes all your buttons. All of us, beloved.
The Work of Remembering
This is our work, then. To remember. To return to the center like a compass needle finding true north. To live from the truth of our worth and value instead of from the shifting sands of circumstance and opinion.
It’s harder than it sounds, this remembering. The world has loud voices that want to tell you who you are. Success whispers that you’re only as good as your last achievement. Failure shouts that you’re defined by your worst mistake. Comparison murmurs that you’re not enough, not yet, maybe never.
But beneath all those voices is a deeper voice. A quieter voice. A truer voice.
It says: You are my beloved child, in whom I am well pleased.
It says: You are fearfully and wonderfully made.
It says: Nothing can separate you from my love. Nothing.
Beautiful and Broken
Who are we? We are beautiful in the sight of the Creator. Made from the dust, yes—vulnerable, fragile, and broken in places—but none of that changes the core truth. We are beloved. Every single one of us.
You don’t have to choose between acknowledging your brokenness and embracing your belovedness. They exist together. Your wounds don’t disqualify you from love. Your struggles don’t diminish your worth. Your failures don’t change your identity.
You are both beautiful and broken. Beloved and becoming. Perfectly imperfect and completely loved.
The Becoming
So let me ask you again, with Rumi’s question echoing in the space between us: if you could remember who you are—really remember, deep in your bones—what might you become?
What risks might you take if you knew you were already loved?
What dreams might you pursue if you didn’t have to earn your worth?
What grace might you extend to others if you lived from the overflow of grace extended to you?
What peace might settle into your chest if you stopped trying to prove your value and simply rested in it?
The you that you are becoming isn’t separate from the you that you are. It flows from it. Your becoming is the natural expression of your being. Your growth is love made visible.
Remember who you are. Not who you were. Not who you might be someday. Who you are, right now, in this moment.
You are beloved.
And from that truth, everything else begins.
What would change in your life if you truly believed you were unconditionally loved?
EnSpirit 