Most of my blog has to do with parenting. I’m a stay at home mom and my kids are my world. Well, part of it anyway. I may be a mom but I have more dimensions to me too. We all do. I own a business in which I develope mobile apps for scripture-based prayer, I like to paint, play the piano, read Christian historical-romance fiction, and shoot at coyotes.

We moved from a city of 500,000 to a rural farm house with 3 neighbors spread out over 500 or so acres. Surrounded by woods, Brian and I are so happy to have the space and the safety of farm life.

Lately though, we’ve been the target for a pack of coyotes. Or actually, our dog is the target. And when it comes to protecting my family, I don’t mess around. So, I borrowed a rifle with a scope for distance and also reunited myself with my own 22, reliable for short distance. (This is a seperate story in itself.) Monday night came didn’t disappoint. Buzz went crazy, we shined the light into the wood line and saw 2 pairs of eyes on one side of the house and three on the other. Brian shot first. I took the back side of the house and shot next…and made a rookie mistake. Using the scope, which isn’t helpful that at night, I got too close to it to see and forgot the kick of this rifle was bigger than my own. Smack. The scope slammed into my face. And no, I didn’t get the coyote.

An hour and a half later I came back home with four stitches in the center of my face. The next day wasn’t good. My daughter saw it and recoiled. She avoided looking at my face for the rest of the morning. I had to go into town too, so I had people staring. I looked like the daughter of Frankenstein.

The face is a standard form of identity. It’s how we are recognized. It’s on our licenses, passports, student cards, business cards and corporate badges. People even pour out a good chunk of change to make sure that it ages well. One look in the mirror and insecurity swept in. The thoughts of a forever altered face began to roll though my mind like tidal waves. Would my kids always recoil? Would my husband see me differently? Will I be that Mom with a huge scar on my face at soccer games?

With my body in pain and soul in turmoil, my spirit stepped in and put a new question forward: What is my identity? My face or my faith? If I allow my identity to be based on my face, what happens to me when it changes? When I get injured? Or old? I realized then that I had a choice. I cannot allow something as fleeting and changing as an image to be my identity. I reread Romans 8. I am a daughter. I am a conqueror. I am a citizen of an everlasting kingdom. I am loved – no matter what, I am loved.

I tell my daughter that beauty is not skin deep but that it comes from the inside. Do I believe that? I looked in the mirror again and thought, “I’m going to have to be a better person.” Then I thought, “No I don’t. It’s always been Christ in me that makes me beautiful.” He is my unshakable, unchangable rock.

I’m healing well. I don’t think there will be a scar. Praise God. (Because I still don’t want one!) But the last two days, the journey God has taken me on was a wild one. Full of raw emotions and hard questions. Because I’m more than a mom. I am a woman and I want an identity that cannot be shaken. More importantly, I want my daughters to grow up watching a mom whose identity cannot be shaken.

And just so we’re clear: those coyotes are going down.

Leslie