When I was in my mid-20s, I moved across the country from my parents. In part this was an exciting statement of independence. I packed up my Ford Escort and drove more than 1,000 miles from Houston to Charlotte, North Carolina. Granted, I was moving close to cousins, aunts and uncles, but it felt independent – and more important, I thought it made me look independent. 

In my new city, I found a job, got a place to live, connected with college buddies, and made new friends. I felt like I was becoming the adult me. The real me who was different from the old me, leaving behind the me from high school, college, and living in my parents’ house. 

After a couple of years though, I hit a rough patch. My job was unfulfilling and the company was being bought out. I had broken up with a boyfriend and felt lonely. I was not going out with my friends as much, not even my roommate. 

At one low point, I called my mom to complain about my life. She listened to me say how I was the least interesting person in my friend group, I was no fun, my life was not going in the direction I wanted. I felt lost.

My mom could have offered advice on how to get a different job, or lambasted my friends for making me feel like an outsider. Instead, she said, “But you’ve always been so fun and funny. What happened to that Mary?”

That got my attention. She reminded me who I was.

She reminded me that I was known – that even when I forgot myself and felt lost from my dreams and ideals, or even my quirks and practical jokes, there were people who knew me and could call me back to myself. My mom believed in me. 

It worked. I did remember. My journey to become a new, adult Mary circled around to remembering the person I already was. 

I’m thinking about that story today, the sixth anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. The journey to get there was long and involved a lot of forgetting who I was, and then being reminded by loved ones, by life around me, and by God. 

Losing yourself can feel like a failure of belief. Am I believing hard enough? Is my sense of where I am going just fake news? At times like those, it might take a “call from Mom,” a reminder of how we are known and loved and believed in to get un-lost. 

Last Sunday, the words of Isaiah reminded me of that call: 

Thus says the Lord,

he who created you O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; 

I have called you by name you are mine. (Isa 43:1)

Over the course of decades, as the sense of my vocation came to me in various voices, it became clear to me that no matter how lost I felt or how distant from that path I wandered, people around me believed in me. And their belief reminded me that God believed in me. 

Here is something interesting about the word “believe.” It comes from the same root as the word “belove.” There is a relationship between believing and beloving. That makes belief more than an assent to an idea. It makes belief holding something precious. 

And it isn’t just about OUR belief. God believes in us, God beloves us. That belief, that belovedness, goes all the way back to the beginning of everything and stretches across time. 

It is because of that belovedness that none of my wandering and doubt have been wasted, they are part of a beloved life. It is because of that belovedness that I can see the loveliness of all those around me, not only those whom I pastor, but those I encounter everywhere. 

Ordination is a rite that sets some of us apart for specific ministry. But my experience is that, because it was an answer to the beloved voices of my community, it feels more like taking my place among them. 

As I enter another year of priesthood, I remember that no matter how sidetracked I get God is always calling me – and all of us –  back to ourselves. God believes in us. We are all beloved.