A child was born into the world on a quiet morning, breathing for the first time by the mercy of God. Before the child could speak or choose, a surname was added to the God given name. This legal (hybrid) name was written down in ink and filed away. The world called it necessary. The child did not understand; the child only lived, laughed, and grew.
As the years passed, the child learned to answer to that written name, everyone called him a person or human at times. Papers followed him, numbers defined him, expectations pressed upon him. Though he tried to do everything asked of him, a restlessness remained. Something felt divided—like living in two rooms at once, never fully at home in either.
The child became a man.
Still, peace did not come. Obedience brought no rest. Success brought no wholeness. And in the quiet moments, the man felt a gentle knocking on the door of his heart.
One day, while seeking God, the man encountered a truth older than ink and paper. He read that God formed man from the dust of the earth and breathed into him the breath of life—and man became a living soul. Not a document. Not a Person, Not a record. A creation of men.
In prayer, the man saw clearly for the first time:
there was a difference between what God created and what the world recorded.
Between the man who lives by breath and the legal person that lives on paper.
This knowledge did not bring anger. It brought peace.
The man forgave the state, knowing it acted without malice, following its customs. He released all resentment, just as Christ taught, and chose reconciliation over accusation.
With a quiet heart, the man returned what was never alive to begin with. In a court, with humility and grace, he laid down the legal name—especially the surname (the birth certificate)—and said in his spirit, “This belongs to you. I belong to God.”
Nothing thundered. No chains fell.
Yet something far greater happened.
The man walked out lighter than he entered, born from above.
No longer divided.
No longer striving.
He knew who he was—not by ink, but by breath.
Not by presumption, but by creation.
And in that knowing, he finally found rest.