Identity Is Fragile

Christmas 2018 was wonderful. My husband and I started the holiday celebration off in Colorado, spending Christmas with our daughter and her family. Gorgeous snow-capped mountains. Mild temperatures. Family. Laughter. Catching up. An inspiring Christmas Eve service. Christmas carols. Great food. Safe travel. Did I mention the views? Breathtaking.

Bonus! We came back to Virginia Beach and celebrated more Christmas with our North Carolina and Virginia daughters and their family. Laughter. Catching up. Great food. Well, the best of times. Two wonderful Christmas celebrations.

Nothing could be finer. Well until we picked up the mail on Friday, December 28, after we had landed at Raleigh-Durham airport, driven four ½ hours to Virginia Beach, and only six hours before our second Christmas crew were due to arrive for their Christmas celebration. 

Dallas ran to the Post Office to collect ten days of mail, while I steamrolled to get ready for Christmas celebration #2. Once he got home, I assigned my husband the task of going through the mail, separating it into his, hers, and trash piles. While I was throwing clothes in the dryer, and stuffing more in the washer, I heard a long, drawn-out series of words, some not so pretty, but all stressful.

I rushed in with a filled laundry basket, “What in the world is going on?”

More disconnected, frustrated words spewed as papers flew up into the air. My husband’s face was fire-poker red and his eyes steamy. I laid the laundry basket on the floor and sat down. By now I wasn’t sure if he was having a heart attack or a tirade. But I remained quiet, waiting for his temper to defuse. 

After pacing the floor, throwing his hands up in the air, and talking under his breath, my husband finally sat down. He looked like a broken man. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“What is wrong?”

“I picked up a registered letter at the Post Office. Guess what? Our driver’s licenses have been revoked. Our insurance carrier has cancelled our car insurance effective ten days from now,” He sputtered in a dead-pan voice.

From the rantings and ravings over the last few minutes, I knew he wasn’t joking. Still, I couldn’t believe what he was saying. 

Had we been victims of identity theft?

According to the letter, our identity had been called into question. The breech was found by a reputable Atlanta firm who passed the information on to our insurance carrier who declared our license and insurance revoked. Wham! We were now “on the wanted list” before we could even defend ourselves.

The agonizing part was no one could be reached. Everyone had checked out for the New Year’s weekend. And it was the following Wednesday before we could get the debacle straightened out. In the meantime, we had to get ready for grandchildren who were so excited to be with Nana and Papa for Christmas. Somehow, we had to put our “jolly” on and forget we only had ten days left to drive on valid license. 

We prayed and turned the situation over to God. I put on Christmas music and we got our heads out of agony and back into the meaning of the weekend. We were still celebrating Jesus’ birth day. And we did. We put our trust and faith in Christ and prayed for Jesus to fill us with the spirit of peace.

Jesus did more than that. He poured holiday-love-rain all over us. We celebrated to the fullest. Jesus as Christ, a babe who came to save us thousands of years ago was still in the business of saving us, every day, all day long. We reached up with open arms, declaring, “We need You, Jesus!”.

Our dilemma did not change, but our heart, mind, and soul settled down. We felt God’s peace and assurance. His stability and love.

The next Wednesday, we went to the Virginia DMV and after getting a clearance there, went to our insurance company. By mid-day we were cleared. Our license was not revoked. Our insurance reinstated. 

When I got home, I lifted a prayer thanking God for His comfort over the weekend and helping us work through our identity crisis. Then I remembered the Bible Study I did in the Fall with my daughter. There is no doubt it prepared me to stay assured and focused on the truth of who I am during an attempt to debunk my identity. 

Stay tuned for the next blogpost as I share a wonderful book, Identity Theft. 

In Christ Alone, my hope is found,

Angela