In the absence of soap.

Here's the thing.  I tend to soapbox.  Lately, my  zeal for soapboxing has died down a bit, but that is mainly due to various inner struggle and almost daily existential crises.  I have lost my passion, and I have lost my nerve.  For someone who thrives on passion to define oneself, I am in a tough spot.  It has been too long since I've overly cared about something: cared about something to the point of preaching my friends' ears off about it.  Instead I find I have quiet questions, and for the first time in my life, humble inquiries about who I am, what I'm made for, and how to live a fulfilling life.  This past year I've suffered worse than a broken heart.  I've suffered a broken spirit.  How do I pick myself up by the bootstraps and continue on?  How do I define myself?  The only thing I know is that these humble inquiries have led to even quieter prayers.  Whispers between me and God, "Help me God.  Help me love.  Help me believe in you.  Help me meet the needs of those around me.  Help me, help me, help me."  Jacob ended his struggle wounded.  He ended with a new name, a painful one.  What is my name God?