Not Borrowed Light

I used to search for myself like my identity was something misplaced

hidden beneath trauma, personality tests, callings, and labels.

As if somewhere in the excavation of my past there was a version of me worth becoming.

But something magical happens when you stop asking Who am I?

and start asking Who does God recognize when I enter a room?

I don’t want to be found anymore.

I want to be sent.

I don’t want to walk into a room and leave it untouched.

I don’t want atmospheres to stay comfortable in my presence.

I want heaviness to feel exposed.

I want darkness to realize it has been noticed.

Not because of my name or because of my gifts

But because of Who arrives with me.

I don’t want oil that can be borrowed, applied, or performed.

Oil can be passed hand to hand.

Oil can be mimicked.

Oil can run dry.

I want an anointing

the kind that cannot be replicated or rushed.

The kind that only forms under obedience, pressure, and surrender.

The kind that leaks without permission and marks rooms without announcement.

Oil decorates, but anointing claims.

I don’t want to glow.

I want to burn.

Not a wildfire that flashes bright and dies fast,

but a steady fire that survives storms, silence, and seasons of obscurity.

A fire that doesn’t feed on applause or affirmation, but only proximity to the Source.

I want my presence to carry weight, not noise. A weight that settles into a room and reminds everything else it is not in control.

I want my obedience to preach louder than my mouth.

My restraint to confront more than my arguments.

My peace to unsettle chaos.

I don’t want people to say,

“She’s powerful.”

I want them leaving unable to name why their chest feels heavy,

why their soul feels seen,

why something in them shifted without explanation.

I spent years chasing identity like it lived behind me, but identity was never something to uncover.

It was always something to surrender.

I was never meant to find myself.

I was meant to lose everything that competes with God.

To be so yielded that heaven doesn’t need an introduction.

So aligned that God doesn’t have to announce Himself

He simply arrives.

To be a doorway, not a display.

A carrier, not a headline.

To be different not by rebellion,

but by belonging.

I don’t want to be known for self-discovery.

I want to be known for availability.

Let God take the spotlight.

Let God take the credit.

Let God take the lead.

If being different costs me comfort, then so be it.

If it costs me approval, fine.

If it costs me myself… Then I’ve finally paid the right price.

Because the goal was never to be seen.

The goal was to be so completely His

that when I walk into a room,

God walks in with me,

and nothing stays the same.