Becoming

If I am honest, there are many words I could choose. I have been a leader, a pastor, a parent, a partner, a builder, and a storyteller. I have experienced success and moments of being undone. I have been certain and, at times, lost. Each of those seasons could suggest a different word, a different answer, depending on where you met me along the way. But if I am asked to pick just one word, not the one that sounds the most impressive or polished, but the one that feels most true across my entire life, the word I choose is this:

Becoming.

Becoming is not a fixed state. It is not a title I have earned or a destination I have reached. It is movement. It is a process. It is the quiet, often unseen unfolding of a life that refuses to stay where it started. To say I am becoming is to admit that I am still in motion, still learning, still growing into something I cannot fully see yet.

There was a time when I might have chosen words like ‘strong’ or ‘accomplished.’ Those words would have reflected the visible, measurable parts of my life and the achievements recognized by others. They would have highlighted the roles I played and the things I accomplished. However, those words would have missed something essential. They would have described what I had done, not who I was becoming.

Because becoming is what remained when everything else began to shift.

Becoming is what carried me through moments when certainty turned into questions, when identity broke open and begged to be reimagined. It is the word that bears both the grief and the grace of transformation. There is loss in becoming. It involves shedding old versions of oneself, letting go of expectations, and quietly mourning what once felt secure. Yet, there is also a deep sense of hope. Becoming means that nothing is finished yet. It signifies that growth is still possible and that new life can emerge even from places that once seemed barren.

Living as becoming requires a certain kind of courage. It asks me to let go of needing to have everything figured out. It asks me to stay open, even when openness feels vulnerable. It asks me to trust that the person I am growing into is worth the uncertainty it takes to get there.

It also influences how I view others. If I am evolving, then so is everyone around me. It reminds me to treat people gently, to give space for growth, and to understand that no one is just the sum of their past selves. We are all, in some way, ongoing stories.

There is humility in this word. I am not presenting myself as complete or perfected. I am not claiming to have arrived. Instead, I am recognizing that my life is still being written, that there are chapters ahead I have not yet lived, truths I have not yet learned, and depths of myself I have not yet explored.

And perhaps that is where the true beauty of becoming lies. It keeps me attentive. It keeps me curious. It keeps me grounded in the present while remaining open to the future.

So if you ask me for one word that describes me, I won’t give you a word that ends the story. I’ll give you one that keeps it going.

I am becoming.