“I hear the owl,” Lynne called from the bedroom. I quietly opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch. Within about a minute, I heard a “who-o-o-o” from the backyard neighbor’s towering pine tree. About 10 seconds later, I heard a distant “who-o-o-o” in response. The back and forth went on for about 10 minutes.

A few minutes later, I took Cooper for his evening walk. Standing idly while he investigated the fire hydrant, I heard the Lord whisper, “Who-o-o-o are you?” Time to reflect.

A few weeks ago, I was on a coaching call with our church-planting pastors, and one of the questions asked was about how to interact with some of the people they were meeting. Many of the people they were meeting introduced themselves using their titles. “I’m Joe and I’m an FBI agent,” or, “I’m Bill and I’m a retired pastor.”

I get it. As a Marine officer, I was all about identity. It’s easy to get caught up in the sum total of your experiences.

In the military, the rank insignia you wear and the decorations on your chest reveal a lot about where you have been and what you have done. All too often your self-worth is all about what you have accomplished or what you are doing.

One of the professional publications I subscribed to before retiring from the Marine Corps had a section titled “taps” (the title of the bugle music played at military funerals and at sunset on some military bases). This section listed the names, ranks, retirement date, and date of death since the previous issue. What was amazing to me was how soon after retirement these individuals passed away! Once they lost their sense of identity, they lost the will to live.

We have an epidemic of suicide today, especially among veterans and active-duty military. During the COVID pandemic, the government shut down businesses that were deemed “unessential” without any recourse. Statistics have shown an uptick in drug and alcohol abuse, domestic abuse, and suicide. I have come to the realization that there is an underlying issue in all of these scenarios — there is an epidemic of hopelessness in our nation.

That being said, we need to define the term “hope.”

The hope we are talking about is not the typical definition we commonly use: “I hope it doesn’t rain on our picnic,” or, “I hope the Astros win the World Series.” The biblical definition of hope is one based on a sure foundation — God Himself. God created man with an emptiness only He can fill, and when He fills that empty place in our soul, His Spirit imparts godly hope.

The author of Hebrews says: “We who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain [temple veil]” (Hebrews 6:18-19, ESV).

As Christians, our hope in God is securely anchored inside the heavenly temple. And though we may bounce on life’s stormy waves, the anchor is secure.

Which brings me to my point. My new “identity” is now found in Jesus, my Lord and King. My purpose in life comes through Him. I know from Scripture that I am highly valued by Him. Apart from a saving relationship with God through Jesus Christ, there is no hope in life because we were made for Him.

“For by Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities — all things were created through Him and for Him” (Colossians 1:16).

This song, “My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less,” sums it up for me:

My hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, all other ground is sinking sand.

The world around is sinking sand, and we need to let those around us know that there is a hope that rescues us from darkness and despair. “On Christ the solid rock I stand.” Standing on the solid ground we lift the “light of the world” (John 8:12) for all to see.

So, let me ask, “Who-o-o-o-o are you?”

What say ye, Man of Valor?
Semper Fidelis!