IDENTITY IN JESUS
Not lost in the crowd
A line of sea lions pressed shoulder to shoulder along a weathered dock. Same space. Same direction. Same current moving underneath them all. But one lifts its head — aware, distinct, unmoved by the crowd around it. Not pushing against it. Not performing for it. Just still. Just clear. Almost as if he knew something the others did not.
Not every identity is loud.
Some are formed quietly…
Pressed in close…
While everything around you tries to define you.
I’ve lived both sides of that.
And only one of them holds.
DEDICATION
To the Holy Spirit — who led me when I could not see clearly, and stayed when I could not stand steadily.
To Jesus — who did not improve my life… He exchanged it.
To my wife, Marty — whose love, strength, and covenant never allowed me to settle for anything less than truth.
To the ones still searching… and to the ones who have found where their identity truly rests.
SCRIPTURE
“And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God.” — Romans 12:2 (NKJV)
THE HOOK
They were all pressed together.
Same space.
Same structure.
Same direction.
No separation.
No distance.
But one lifted its head.
Not pushing.
Not fighting.
Just… aware.
Not lost in the crowd.
THE STORY
I’ve lived long enough to know what it feels like to blend in.
To carry a name…
a role…
a responsibility…
and mistake it for identity.
We had the largest anodizing tanks in the United States — a custom-built processing system I designed myself. Du-All Anodizing Corporation.
That capability brought us work most shops never saw.
Parts we processed flew on NASA missions.
Some of them are still out there —
on Voyager,
the furthest man-made object from our planet.
On Hubble.
On every major telescope and satellite sent into space since.
By every measure, that sounds like success.
And it was.
But success has a way of becoming a name tag.
Every room I walked into —
every meeting, every event, every industry dinner —
there was a table by the door with badges.
Mine was always easy to find.
It said Du-All.
Not Greg.
Not G~.
Du-All.
People would walk up and say,
“What all do you do, Mr. Du-All?”
Or across the room —
“Hey — there’s the Du-All guy.”
After a while, you stop correcting it.
You just… become it.
And when your name is your business,
you don’t just maintain one reputation.
You maintain two.
Because is there really a difference between business life and personal life
if you never separate them?
The truth is — there isn’t.
And I didn’t.
For decades I carried that badge into every room.
Built around it.
Performed for it.
Lived up to it.
Until the weight of the name
became heavier than the man underneath it.
THE MOMENT
September 7th, 2000.
Six years into the marriage.
I remember a night in a casino.
Lou Rawls was there.
The room was star-struck.
People pressed in.
Everyone wanted a piece of the moment.
I sat back and watched.
In time the crowd cleared.
Lou looked over at me.
He could tell I wasn’t there for the performance.
He said simply —
“So. What’s your story?”
And just like that — two guys talking about life.
No badges.
No names.
No reputation managing the moment.
Just present.
I told him that his voice had been at my wedding.
That You’ll Never Find a Love Like Mine was the song Marty and I chose.
He smiled.
“That was a good choice for a man like you.”
Then he told me his.
The song was written by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff.
And when it was recorded — Lou was at an all-time low.
Career struggling.
Identity shaken.
Carrying the weight of how the world saw him
and the gap between that and how he saw himself.
That song revitalized him.
Not just professionally.
Internally.
It shifted something about who he understood himself to be.
Lou Rawls passed away in 2006.
But that song is still playing.
Still in weddings.
Still in rooms where people are trying to say
something they can’t find words for.
His identity — the real one, not the one the world assigned —
lives on past his life.
Before we parted that night,
he looked at my neck.
I was wearing a custom solid gold pendant —
sapphire and emerald,
a yin yang symbol.
He looked me in the eye and said,
“Does that mean you’re balanced?”
I didn’t have a full answer yet.
He did.
That voice —
the same voice that had filled rooms,
moved people to tears,
been at my wedding —
dropped low and said,
“Jesus. He’s the one that balances me.”
Something in that resonated deeper than the words.
It wasn’t just what he said.
It was the way it landed.
Like it had weight behind it.
Like it had been earned.
I paused.
I smiled.
Not because I had something clever to say.
Because I had nothing.
No words that would fit.
And somewhere underneath the smile —
a quiet question was forming
that I wasn’t ready to ask out loud yet.
Who balances me?
I was wearing the symbol.
He had the answer.
I was wearing a symbol of self-constructed balance
while talking to a man who had already found the real thing.
I just didn’t know it yet.
Two guys. No crowd. No badges. Just the story underneath the story — which is always where the real one lives.
I stopped asking who I was supposed to be.
And surrendered to who He already said I am.
THE TURN
The exchange happened in my own backyard.
At the foot of the cross.
No audience.
No badge on the table.
Just me and God.
And what He said was simple.
Be still. Be G~. I’ll guide you. I’ll give you the words.
That’s the difference.
Identity built by the world has to be maintained.
Identity given by God…
holds.
One requires effort.
The other requires surrender.
And surrender isn’t weakness —
It’s alignment.
I didn’t become someone new.
I became someone revealed.
The man God had already formed…
before the world ever tried to name me.
Now I am a free agent for Jesus.
Like it or dislike it — that doesn’t move me.
Because I am no longer gaining identity through approval or affirmation.
I am just G~.
Observing where God takes me.
THE DRIFT
It sounds like growth —
Just keep improving.
Keep building.
Keep becoming.
It isn’t.
That voice never lets you arrive.
It keeps you chasing a version of yourself
that always stays just out of reach.
It calls exhaustion progress.
It calls striving purpose.
There is a kind of self-construction that looks like ambition on the outside —
but is just a man who hasn’t been told yet
that the work has already been done.
Building a name instead of receiving one.
Managing a reputation instead of resting in a calling.
Performing for rooms that were never meant to define you.
I know. Because I chased it. For years.
THE REFLECTION
Identity in Jesus is not loud.
It doesn’t need validation.
It doesn’t compete.
It doesn’t adjust based on the room.
It stands.
Even when pressed.
Even when surrounded.
Even when everything around it looks the same.
Because it knows where it came from.
Lou Rawls didn’t write that song.
But something in it found him at his lowest
and gave him back to himself.
That’s what God does.
He doesn’t hand you someone else’s identity.
He restores the one He already placed in you —
before the world got its hands on it.
I’ve walked through enough fire to know this —
What is built by man can be shaken.
What is anchored in Christ…
cannot.
This isn’t theory.
This is lived.
Forged through loss.
Refined through surrender.
Strengthened through grace.
Lou’s song still plays at weddings.
His voice still moves rooms he will never walk into.
That’s legacy.
That’s what identity anchored in something real
leaves behind.
I used to wonder what people saw when I walked in.
Now I wonder what God wants me to share today.
I don’t wear identity anymore.
I stand in it.
WALKAWAY LINE
When you know who you are in Christ — you don’t disappear in the crowd. You become clear within it.
SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
What part of your identity are you still trying to maintain — that God never asked you to carry?
MY PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for never leaving my identity in the hands of the world.
Thank You for calling me before I understood who I was,
and for holding that truth steady when everything around me shifted.
Strip away anything in me that still reaches for approval, performance, or control.
Let me stand fully in who You have already declared me to be.
Not striving.
Not proving.
Not performing.
Just aligned.
Keep my eyes fixed on Jesus — not just as Savior, but as my foundation.
And for those still searching… meet them where they are.
Show them what You showed me —
That identity is not something we build.
It is something we receive.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
ABOUT G~
G~ writes from lived experience — exploring identity, authority, and time through the lens of faith, trial, leadership, and surrender. His reflections are not meant to condemn or hype, but to steady. Rooted in covenant, forged through adversity, and anchored under the authority of Jesus Christ, his work invites readers to examine who governs their lives — and to live intentionally under truth.
If what you’ve read resonates with your journey, feel free to reach out.
G~
Genice — Lou Rawls in the background while you read that… that's exactly how it should land.
You named it perfectly — the enemy is relentless, and the world is loud. But you're right. The gaze is a choice. Every single day.
And Godly Girl? I'd say that's a banner worth flying.
G~
Love this, what a beautiful experience you had with Lou Rawls. I listened to his hit song while reading this Spark. The world and the enemy are fruitful and fervently working on making us look away from Christ for our identity. Praise God we have a choice on where we gaze.
At work, my co-workers call me G too 😊 Godly Girl?? Hmm, I'll take it!!