Who do you say that I am?
The phrase hangs heavy in the air like Florida humidity stealing my breath on a summer day.
Do you see me over the glimmer reflecting in your eyes?
Trappings shine blinding, stealing the senses.
Am I enough?
Thunder roars from clouds opening.
Light splits earth and air.
You touch the depths and rattle them with your fingertip.
You are enough and I am yours.
Who do you say that I am?
My name carved on white stone and only I can read it.
There, in a name, I find identity.
 “I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it.”
Revelation 2:17
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INSPIRED BY THE COMFORTER 
You are enough and I am yours. How glorious that is!
An elderly woman suffering with Alzheimer’s was being helped
to get ready for bed in a nursing home. At one point, she stopped dead still,
looking very perplexed. Then she shrugged and smiled. “I’ve forgotten my name again, but that’s all right,” she said pointing to a picture of Jesus on the wall. “He knows who I am.”