Blessed Pt.2

In my post last week I quoted the beginning of Matthew Chapter 5, and the first lines of the Sermon on the Mount, which we call the Beatitudes.  I wrote just a little on how I am blessed when I serve adoptive families, and how I am blessed because I mourn for this messed up world, for these families, for these kids, and for my own selfishness and sin. 

The words in those Beatitudes are a special encouragement  from God in heaven to me.  Because, as you know, I am Blessed.   I've never said how that name came about, so I think I might as well now, and might as well tell you the long, overly drawn-out story, since it is much funnier. 

Before I tell you, I want to make two three things clear: 

First, names are important to me.  I love to name things--dolls, toys, cars, pets, children--and to feel like I found *just* the right name to convey that particular thing or person.  (I'm not saying I always succeed, but it is fun--and important to me--to try.)  I think my love of naming is directly related to my love of words in general and my pleasure in using them well, and finding just the right word to convey the particular slant of meaning I intend--it is not only fun, but gratifying.  (Um, this does not mean I always use my words well--half the time when I write I only have enough brain power to make sure I am coherent, forget eloquent.) But also how we name something is important to me--calling something what it is not only speaks truth, but also shows we are not blind to the fullness of what it is, and the many implications of its fullness.  I think we have enough colloquialisms and old-timey sayings here in English that attest to the importance of naming correctly:  "call a spade a spade," "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," "pot calling the kettle black."  How we speak about--i.e. "name"--things and situations can show a bent in our minds and hearts towards truth or towards lies.   Speaking truth is very important to me.  So not only names in themselves are full of meaning for me, when they are given with meaning, but also is the very process of naming.  Names say so much not only about the thing being named, and the one who named it, but also teach us about ourselves as we respond to the name.

(I am really hoping this is one of those times I am at least being coherent!)

Ok, the second thing I want to make clear is that I prefer names to come organically--unforced.  You'll understand what I mean in a minute.

The third thing, which I wanted to add after I originally posted this, is that I am chuckling at myself the whole time I am writing this.  So it is fine for you to laugh too!


And for the rest of this post, I'll demonstrate this with examples from my own life: my own silly journey to find my own special nickname. 

I have been a reader all my life, and as a youth would read these teen stories with characters that had--what seemed at the time--wonderfully spirited teen names, names that set them apart, names that made them more exciting, more special, capable of greater things.  But now you will laugh at the names that so inspired me--Barbie.  Skipper.  Trixie Belden.  Honey.  Blair.  Blake.  Bubbles. Yes, to my great chagrin, there was a period of time when I thought "Bubbles" was a fantastic nickname, so. . . sophisticated.  (I had a strange attraction to names beginning with "B" too, which is now intriguing.) Oh, I thought my given name, Lisa, was so mundane.  None of the teen heroines in the books I read had that name.  It sounded decidedly unadverturesome and unimaginative. 

(My apologies, Mother--it is a nice name! It just did not sound in my head the way I wanted to imagine myself at age 13.)

So I really, really wanted a nickname.  I imagined myself as a Bubbles, and thought I would sound so much more fun, and would likely be more popular with a cute and cool nickname like that.  The only problem was that no one ever gave me a nickname, and I was adamant that nicknames were supposed to come from those around you, who saw the "real" you come bubbling through (ahem) and could not restrain themselves from affectionately naming the "real" you they saw and loved.  So I longed for a nickname that would come from a friend, or even a sister, that was spunky or sophisticated but definitely cool. 

It never came.  The only thing anyone ever did was shorten my already short name to "Lis."  Which is not so much a nickname as it is pure laziness.  Ok, affectionate laziness. ; )  Now I'm teasing my big sister Rebecca, who was the first one to call me that, and meant it in the best affectionate way--I did like it, kinda, because at least it was like a nickname.  But it didn't "name" me in a new way that would tell anyone hearing it something about me that was special, and thus deserving of the nickname.

In college I finally got my nickname.  And it happened organically too.  And some people even called me by it for a short time.  And it was, I swear, the absolute worst nickname anyone could ever have (that was not given to be cruel.)  It was. . . Er.  Yes.  "Er."  This came about because of a little in-joke with a guy I dated for a short while, named Brad.  He was Goth before there was Goth, and actually looked a lot like Edward Scissorhands.  ANYWAY, my maiden name is spelled one way but pronouned another way.  It is an Austrian name by heritage, and we always said the pronunciation was shorted somewhere along the way, ala Ellis Island style.  So basically there is an "e-r" at the very end that we don't actually say.  The letters are there in the spelling, but you just ignore them when you say the same.  As an adult, I realize this is strange.  As a college student, I had told Brad that actually he was pronouncing my last name wrong, and he thought it was so funny that he turned the joke around and pretended the first part of the name was the part you didn't pronounce, so my name was really "Er."  Lisa Er.  Er for short.  And so he affectionately called me Er, some people heard him do so and started calling me Er too. 

Oh, to finally get that long-awaited nickname!  Oh, the despair to have it be something so ugly.  A word that sounds like hesitancy, like a frog in the throat, like a mistake to be caught.  Sigh.   

I never told him not to call me that, because of course I was still secretly a little pleased that finally someone had caught sight of something playful, interesting and nickname worthy in me.  But I was also completely fine with its short-lived nature, as Brad and I only dated for a few months before he realized, er, I was too nice for his bad-boy side, and he was too nice to want to corrupt me.

So, that was that.  That was my one and only bonafide nickname, and it certainly did not satisfy my secret longing to be known, to be recognized for who I am inside.

I just remembered that a few years after that, I took a Greyhound bus from Illinois to Virginia, during a summer when DH and I were dating, and a hippie girl and I stayed up all night talking as the bus drove on.  I told her my name was Rhen, which I had decided was my new self-given nickname.  It was fun for a day--and I think I even received one letter from her afterwards addressed to Rhen, which was thrilling.  But then a cartoon came out with a character called Ren (ala Stimpy) and while I never saw the show, it forever ruined the nickname, since that's all people would think when they heard the name.

Skip forward a few years to when DH and I were out of college and engaged to be married.  After re-reading my sister Rebecca's ElfQuest graphic novels, I became enamored with an idea found in them, that of people having a secret name that is tied up with their soul.  Oh, yes--to have one every-day name that is used by everyone around me, and then to also have a secret name that belongs to the most inner me, the me most people would never know but which I might share with one special man someday and thusly cleave my spirit to his in a way that is undeniable, unbreakable.  Yes, I know.  How over-the-top romantic.  How idealized--and what a burden to place upon the man one will marry.

Yesterday was DH and my 17th wedding anniversary.  Which I realized the day before was coming up soon, but thought was the 10th, not the 7th.  And then realized last night it was actually yesterday!  Well, at least this year we remembered; last year we both forgot, and the year before that--the 15 year milestone--DH remembered but did not say anything to see if I would remember (thanks, hon).  I think I remembered about a month later.  Anyway, it is funny that I started this post a week ago, and am just now at the knowing thy spouse to his or her core part today after yesterday's "anniversary."  I no longer believe any person can know my deepest self, and it's not fair to expect that of my husband, who is after all a guy, and who is having a hard enough time figuring out this whole "woman" thing, let alone wrapping his brain around the one particular woman with whom he's now united for life.  In fact, I gave up this idealized notion of the swapping soul-names with one's spouse after a year or two of marriage.  In fact, I don't think I ever even told DH the ElfQuest-styled name I made up for myself, which is highly embarassing to reveal here, because I imagined this name really reflected my most secret self, and so it felt special, even sacred, but which will just look silly to you all. 

Kree.

You have to say it aloud to appreciate how pretty that sounds.  Looking back, I find it very telling that both the names I chose for myself, Rhen and Kree, were completely made up, with no actual meaning.  I think I did this unconsciously, choosing sounds that I liked together, and sounds that somehow evoked a feeling in me, that I thought resonated with who I am at my core.  And choosing to create a name is freeing because it will not have connotations of other things--made up names are unique (or, "Uuneeque,"if you have watched the fascinating documentary Freakonomics on Netflix, and it's section on baby names ; ) and so feel like they are tailor-made for that one person.  And made-up names allow the namer to imagine the name means anything they want; which is particularly helpful if you are still secretly not sure who you are and want to leave some wiggle room for self-revelation in the future. 

And that is why I think I had been longing for a special nickname all my life--I did not know myself, and wished I did, and hoped that whatever I found about my "real" self would be meaningful, special.  I wanted to know myself and be glad about what I found, and I wanted to be known, fully, and along with that, to be loved, fully. . . .


Final part to come!
Click here for Pt 3.