The early morning light dawns blue, and I reach over and grasp the leather-bound Book lying on dusty white by my bedside. This morning I’m a bit tired, but I’m desperate to soak up a little of His grace. I’m desperate to penetrate through the doubts that paralyze faith. As I open the Bible’s sacred pages, I search for the place I had left off the day before. And it’s in my searching that I unintentionally re-read the same thin pages smudged with holy ink; it’s now I hear His voice where I hadn’t before. There in the beginning of Exodus, I’m reading about the beginnings of Moses. He’s out caring for his father-in-law’s sheep when God allures him over by a burning bush that doesn’t burn up.

He then proceeds to show Moses a little glimpse of His heart.

It’s the dialogue between him and God that intrigues me. God tells Moses that He’s heard the cries of His chosen people—His heart aches for them in their pain. And this is where the start of his famous journey begins: God gives Moses one purpose—to free His people from bondage. But as I read, it’s one honest question from Moses that throws me off guard. 

“Then Moses said to God, “Indeed, when I come to the children of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they say to me, ‘What is His name?’ what shall I say to them?”” (Exodus 3:13) 

I stop here, puzzled. God’s very own people don’t know His name? It hits hard when I realize that a name is more than something you’re called—it’s the very identity of who you are. Day breaks and this reality breaks on me. God’s very own people don’t know who He is. They’ve forgotten His identity. And it doesn’t slip past me that I identify with this nation who has forgotten the core identity of God. I keep reading. 

“And God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.” And He said, “Thus you shall say to the children of Israel, I AM has sent me to you.’” (verse 14)

Again, I have questions of my own. I AM? I am what? I am who? Why the incomplete sentence? It doesn’t make a lot of sense and I read and re-read these words. I AM. Its then He gently whispers in my heart something so profound—the idea that perhaps God left it incomplete so each one of His people could fill it in by their own experience with Him.

Perhaps this incomplete statement was really an invitation for God’s people to enter into a personal relationship with Him.

Because maybe generations of forgetfulness led them into their own bondage. Maybe God was calling Moses to free them from spiritual bondage as well. Because maybe a whole nation never really experienced a personal relationship with God. 

And maybe God is inviting you too. Perhaps you haven’t had a personal experience and He’s inviting you in. Perhaps He’s also whispering to you His name: I AM. 

I AM forgiveness. 

I AM mercy. 

I AM joy. 

I AM victorious.

I AM healing.  

I AM strength. 

I AM justice. 

I AM all good. 

I AM compassion.  

I AM love. 

I AM righteousness. 

I AM enough. 

Because for each one of us, He has a personal name. He is all, and yet, for us individually, we relate to His many characteristics differently.

Who is the God of your experience?

Perhaps we’ve forgotten His grace and glory and love–the core identity of who God is. Maybe we’ve been found too content in our own bondage and misery. Maybe we’ve been a little indolent in discovering who God is for ourselves–in letting Him become our I AM and letting Him name our empty places with all the fullness of His goodness.

But God’s message for Israel then is the same for us now: In all your dark places, in all your messy moments, painful pieces, and struggling days–I AM. In every step of your journey, in good times and in hard times, I AM.

Perhaps God left the sentence incomplete on purpose so you could fill in the blank—So you could know Him as your all sufficient Savior.