If a tree is recognized by its fruit (Matthew 12:33), what happens if you are a tree that produces nuts?

 Forgive my whining as I am acutely aware that I am abundantly blessed...I communicate with my daughters via text, phone, and/or Facetime practically EVERY day. Sydney and I exchange Instagram reels with the speed and on-theme accuracy of dueling Western outlaws. But not being physically with them for long periods of time can feel emotionally crippling. I haven't been with my girls since the summer. I know. I can hear my military moms out there laughing hysterically. But how do I confess, when each day was packed with meaningful, memorable activities, that my very favorite moment of this past visit was when, one by one, each girl slid into my quiet bedroom as I took a quick break to rest...snuggling in on both sides of me...succumbing to sleep as I lay there...enraptured by their synchronized breaths...transported back in time by the ancient drumbeats of their hearts? These two incredible women...independent, resourceful, strong, kind...once harbored within me. Each exit, I reflected, as I refrained from movement so as not to wake them, was painful but necessary for growth. My daughters...shield and shelter...reside permanently in my mind, my memory, my heart, and my soul.

Being a mom is a huge part of my identity.

I am the daughter of the King. I am Brad Mosiman's wife. I am Savannah and Sydney's mother. I am my mother's daughter and advocate. I am a teacher. A writer.

Cities, I have discovered, have identities as well. New York's skyline, sadly notable for its missing Twin Towers, is renowned for the Empire State Building. Chicago has the Sear's Tower. Boston boasts the John Hancock Tower, and, of course, Fenway Park's famed Citgo sign. Your eyes cannot help but scan a city's skyscape...seeking the familiar...the comforting...a beacon...a grounding force.

Austin has the Owl.

The Frost Bank Tower sits comfortably upon its perch, nestled within the city of Austin. More wry than wise, the story surrounding this structure pleases me as one of sardonic comeuppance. Architectual audacity. Its designer simply not giving a hoot...swooping in silently to stamp its unblinking identity over Austin. 

My family surprised me with an afternoon and evening of unrestricted "bird"-watching as we enjoyed warm beverages and holiday cocktails while roasting s'mores on a decorated rooftop neighboring the Owl. The rented cabana provided privacy and invited us to linger comfortably as I watched, entranced, as the sky became the constantly-changing painted backdrop for this architectual piece of art...manipulating the mood by curtaining with clouds and leveraging the light. What a range of feelings...foreboding, suspicious, mysterious, anticipatory, watchful, protective, predatory...all at a safe distance, surrounded by my family...my beacons...my grounding force. 

Identity is an interesting term. A fly-over definition speaks more of the individual:  behavior, personality, character traits. But a deep-dive may reveal more: What draws others to you? What are the features on your cityscape that invites (or repels) attention? What parts of your personality act as a lightning rod or a guiding lighthouse? Are you a cozy bungalow? A dilapidated duplex? A haunted house? A split-level or skid row? What message is printed on your "Welcome" mat? When someone knocks...do you remain silent or do you call out, "Who's there?"

Louis Sullivan was an American architect and pioneer of city skyscrapers. One of his collaborative works, the Prudential Building, remains a jewel in the crown of the Buffalo skyline. He is quoted as saying that a "building's identity resided in the ornament." I know that he probably meant windows and such...oh my goodness! Gargoyles! But, as it's the holiday season, I immediately related the quote to a Christmas tree. The tree, alone, does not identify as a Christmas tree. It is when the shiny bulbs, the twinkling lights, and the star rests upon lofty boughs and nestle into branches that the tree transforms..."becomes." The ornaments of a structure are the residents whose lives and stories then reside within the stories of the structure. My ornaments:  Brad Mosiman, Savannah, Sydney, Lisa, Douglas, my mom, my dear friends, my students, people kind enough to read my words, and my Star and Savior, guiding it all...transforming me into the kind of tree I was meant to be.

Just a reminder, to me, to begin this new year by not asking "Who am I?" but "Whose am I?"

Thank you, God for decorating my life with the most spectacular ornaments imaginable.