Becoming

Devotional

Becoming

There are times when becoming seems to begin with breaking. Something happens that changes us. Grief bends us. Disappointment cracks something we thought was secure. Pain settles into places no one else can see. We continue functioning, perhaps even smiling, while carrying wounds quietly beneath the surface. And naturally, when healing begins, we may think the goal is to become ourselves again.

The song, Becoming, begins there: “Not yet the one I’m meant to be, I’m still becoming Me.” There is hope in those words. Brokenness is not the end of the story. God does not abandon His children among the scattered pieces. Scripture reminds us, “we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand” (Isaiah 64:8). Jeremiah likewise pictures the vessel being worked again in the potter’s hand (Jeremiah 18:1–6).

But as the song continues, something changes. The person who thought she was becoming herself hears another voice: “You are still becoming Me.” That changes the destination. Perhaps we thought God’s work was primarily about making us happier, stronger, more confident, less wounded, or more like the person we believe we were supposed to become. God certainly heals. He restores. He strengthens. He comforts. But Scripture reveals something greater at the center of Christian transformation.

God has purposed that His children be “conformed to the image of his Son” (Romans 8:29). As we behold the Lord, we are “changed into the same image from glory to glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18). The old ways are to be put off while the new person is renewed according to the One who created us (Ephesians 4:22–24; Colossians 3:9–10). Becoming, then, is not merely improvement. It is transformation—and transformation can reach places that simple repair never could.

The song speaks of hollow places, scars, silence, ashes, and roots beneath a tree. Those images matter because much of God’s work occurs where other people cannot see it. A tree does not begin with the branches everyone admires. Beneath the ground is an unseen system of roots—growing, reaching, strengthening, drawing what is needed for the life that eventually appears above. Our spiritual lives can be much the same.

God may be doing some of His deepest work in seasons when we appear to be accomplishing very little. Scripture tells us that “tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope” (Romans 5:3–4). Trials can deepen endurance and maturity (James 1:2–4), while our attention is drawn from the temporary things we can see toward the eternal things we cannot (2 Corinthians 4:16–18). That does not mean every wound was sent by God or that suffering itself is inherently good. It means suffering does not place us beyond His redemptive reach. Even there, the Potter still has the clay.

And gradually another truth becomes apparent: some things we once thought were part of us were never meant to remain. Pride can fall. Self-reliance can fall. Bitterness can fall. The identities we constructed around our wounds can fall. The need to control everything can fall. The false things can fall. This brings us to the final movement of the song: “And when all that’s false has fallen, What remains of me is... He.”

Scripture does not teach that becoming like Christ means our individual personhood disappears. God does not erase the person He created; He transforms us. Paul could say, “Christ liveth in me” while still speaking of “the life which I now live in the flesh” as a life lived by faith in the Son of God (Galatians 2:20). The remarkable mystery of Christian transformation is not that the person vanishes, but that Christ becomes increasingly evident through that person’s life.

His love begins replacing our selfishness. His mercy begins replacing our hardness. His patience begins challenging our impatience. His humility confronts our pride. His faithfulness reshapes our choices. His character becomes increasingly visible in ours.

And suddenly the three statements within the song reveal an entire spiritual journey: I’m still becoming Me. That is where we may think the journey is headed. You are still becoming Me. That is where Christ reveals the deeper purpose. What remains of me is... He. That is where we finally understand.

The Christian life was never merely a project to construct a better version of ourselves. It is the lifelong work of God, faithfully continued in us. We can trust “he which hath begun a good work in you” to continue that work (Philippians 1:6), forming us increasingly into the likeness of Christ (Romans 8:29).

We are not finished. We are not beyond repair. And our broken places do not have the authority to determine what we will become. We are clay in holy hands. We are still being formed. We are still being changed. We are still becoming.

Prayer

Father, I place every part of myself into Your hands—the parts I understand and the parts that still feel broken. Thank You that You have not abandoned the work You began in me. Show me what needs to be healed, what needs to be surrendered, and what needs to fall away. Keep me from seeking merely to become a better version of myself when Your purpose is so much greater. By Your Spirit, conform me increasingly to the image of Your Son. Let His love, mercy, humility, faithfulness, and grace become more visible in me. And through every season of my life, continue Your work until what others increasingly see in me is Christ. In Jesus’ name, Amen.