What’s In A Name?
“And I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.” Revelation 2: 17b.
What if none of knows his or her real name? I mean what if there is a name we should know but time, separation from God or our spiritual selves and preoccupation with survival has buried the knowledge deep? What if this very thing explains one of the reasons why some of us have such a problem with identity?
Some ancient cultures named their children traditional names formally then added a personal one later as their character revealed itself. I know Biblical characters were renamed constantly to reflect whatever new role they were to play in their God’s plans. In America certain indian tribes would name their children for the first thing that showed itself to them right after the child was born. There’s even jokes about naming children “Dog Puking” and stuff like that (it gets cruder but we won’t go there), which reflects the practice but doesn’t necessarily respect it.
But what if the Creator gave us a name before we were born which identified us so intimately that everything we do is a reflection of that name? Wouldn’t it help to know what your name was? Think about it a minute…Our identity gets so confusing sometimes that we don’t really know who to be. Pressures from society’s expectations, traditional practices which have nothing whatsoever to do with ability many times, and general family values (not the political/morality argument kind) dictate much of what we become.
I believe in each person as a unique being, full of potential and unrealized creativity much of the time. I also think one of the reasons for mental illness (besides the obvious physical damage or abuse factors) is that too many of us are being compressed into a box someone else designed. I don’t mind the box, if someone desires it, but I do mind it being forcably fitted on everyone.
This God I serve and others that I’ve heard of name us something totally unique. In the Biblical book of Revelation quoted above (I know the Bible better than I know other writings so bear with me) we are told that we will be given a new name when all things are made new. I like that because as far as I can tell from all the records in the Bible names reflect our future in God’s eyes. So whatever name we are given will be revealed to others in how we live eternally, though hidden as a title. (Remember I am a Christian here so I believe in an eternal life teaching.)
That aside, a name should reflect us. Much of how we are identified anymore means nothing. I know many people who just make up great sounding names without any meaning whatsoever. My mother decided to name me “Jonathan” for three reasons: 1) My dad hated his name, which was Doyle, which was also Mom’s first choice (escaping through the flames here). 2) The name meant “God’s gift”. 3) She, being a Christian, loved the story of David and Jonathan, who became fast friends.
My name meant something to my mother and thus to me. It identified to her what I was worth to her. She thought of me as a gift from God and named me accordingly. Yet there is another name which I don’t know as yet, that I believe I own but need more time to discover. It’s rooted in my identity and stamped on my inner being. I’m not in touch with this inner person as much as I would like to be but that’s the fascinating part.
What is your name? Who are you? What name would best describe who you are and identify you to others in a word or phrase?
Wouldn’t we all like to know…
April 18, 2008 at 2:01 pm
A story about a name. Once upon a time in 1970, a little girl was born in a remote small town in Nevada. Her mother was a free spitit, who had travelled as far as Alaska, and Hawaii, and the United States. Born of Scottish imigrants, and raised under the great Niagra falls she sought movement, and freedom. So, at a tender age she lit out to eplore the teritories within her reach. Her travels spaned the continent, the tundra to the north, then the ocean to the west. During that time, her two older brothers were drafted into a senceless war being waged by a government she didn’t understand. Her brothers were sent to a foriegn land to live, and die, according to rules set forth by forces beyond any common citizen. She loved and prayed for them, but their fate was set. They, one at a time, were sacrificed to war. She saw the anti-war protests in San Francisco. She wanted to remember these soldiers, these brothers in some other way than protest signs, and “peace rallies”. After all, when has there been, or ever will be peace? Peace is only achieved in isolation. So she made a promise to her two dead brothers. She said their name would be remembered. She met and married a navy man, a submariner, stationed in Hawaii. Together they moved back to his hometown in the desert of Nevada, a beautiful, isolated place. She loved and was accepted by this family, so different than the wide world she had seen in the 20 yrs of travelling. When the little girl was born, she had intended to name her after the brothers she had loved, but this new family had a tradition. She named the girl after two great grand-mothers. Alice and Lorene were strong, noble women, and worthy of the honor, so her little girl carried this nomer. But, despite all, this woman remembered her own given name, and the simple nickname her father had given to her. She stayed true to her own Scottish heritage, and still honored her new family, and called the little girl “Lori”. Years passed, and Lori grew, and at some point, she asked her mother about the past. Her mother told her about the brave uncles who gave their lives for our freedom, and cause. Her mother told her about the plan to name her first child after these smitten young men, uncles who died abroad before they even met the neice born after them. When the little girl heard the story, she was too young to understand war, and sacrifice, and the meaning of names, but in her innocence, she promised her mother she would honor the uncles lost in Viet-Nam. She never forgot that Promise. Lori grew up, and got married, and got pregnant. She never forgot the promise to her mom. So she named her daughter after after Michael and Gene. As soon as Little Mykal Jean was old enough to understand the meaning of her name, Lori told her of the significance behind it, and she understood. Now she wears her name proudly, and with honor. She is now 18, and has defended her name with pride. She plans on keeping the tradition, by naming her first girl after her maternal granmother. The middle name will be up to her to decide. She will honor her child with a name that pays respect to family. To be continued………..
April 18, 2008 at 3:56 pm
I’ll be honest. I have a lot of needless angst and fret a lot about my identity (and wish my dad had a bit more imagination than to just give me his name and slap a “Jr.” on the end), but I don’t see this as anything I need to think about. Like Jim Croce said, “I got a name,” but my identity goes far beyond my name to the point that my name means little more to me than, say, my Social Security number.