-
Lantern Festival
My blog post is about Loy Krathong. Loy Krathong is a lantern festival in Thailand.
We made our own krathongs that float on water. Khru Em taught us how to fold the banana leaves.
Afterwards, they made us traditional Thai food called “pink noodles.” They are called pink noodles because they are pink.
After we ate, they taught us a dance.
We put our krathongs on the canal behind our house. We didn’t put incense in it, because we are not buddhists.
Also, we saw floating lanterns in the sky.
We didn’t float a lantern up, but we did find one that came down. When a buddhist person sends a lantern up, they are floating their sins away. I don’t believe that we can float our sins away, I think the only way you can be saved from your sins is by believing in Jesus Christ. So I didn’t mind that someone else’s “sin lantern” fell near me and I was not afraid to touch it.
-
Moving To Thailand
This personal narrative was originally written by Jeremiah Keim as a requirement of his coursework for The Good and the Beautiful Level 3 Language Arts.
The day mom and dad told us we were going to move to Thailand, I was scared because I thought I wouldn’t be able to see my friends again. I was sitting on the couch and it was dark outside when mom and dad told me and my brother and sisters. After I calmed down, I felt really excited about it. It took several days to pack and we made our house into a place for other people to stay. Finally, the week before we moved we went to spend time with our family. Personally, I felt really sad that we would have to leave them but also really happy because they said they would sometimes visit us.
When we went to the airport it was really early in the morning. When we got to the airport we said goodbye and then loaded all our stuff onto the plane. Our first plane ride, I took a nap and when I woke up we were nearly to Detroit. The next two flights were nice and comfy because I got to watch movies and wear soft, warm, fuzzy slippers. It was longer than I expected, but then we finally got to Thailand. I felt really happy because we met all the ZOE people and I finally got to breathe fresh air again (the air wasn’t really fresh it was actually smokey, but, hey, at least it was air that wasn’t inside the plane all night).
First, one of the missionaries took us to the house that we chose to live in. It was OK, but I was really scared of the geckos and of the snakes that might live here. Luckily, I haven’t seen any snakes. Eventually, I started to like geckos. I like to catch them and release them outside.
Next, the missionaries took us around to all their favorite restaurants and stuff. For example, we got to go with a missionary to a plant market. It was pretty fun. I saw lots of cactuses and Elephant Ear plants. Another example is that another missionary took us to this really cool art gallery where the paintings look super realistic, like you were holding a hammer in the painting or like you were fighting a dragon.
Also, one of the families took us to the zoo with them. It was really fun because we got to rent a golf cart and we saw a whole bunch of cool animals that live in Thailand and other places. Afterwards, we went to this awesome restaurant with an big pretend boat outside and we played tag on it.
I am really happy we live in Thailand now because my dad is helping ZOE stop child trafficking. I think my dad is doing what God made him to do. I want to support him and do what I can do to help raise money for ZOE so that we can give help to the kids who have been trafficked. My heart makes me feel like I want to help and give them a normal life again, because after being trafficked it would be hard.
THE END
-
Mixed Media Art Project
I am homeschooled. During homeschool we learn all of the things you would learn at public school: Math, Reading, Language Arts, Typing, etc. Recently we did an art project as well. We made self-portraits that are all different and unique according to the person. Mom took pictures of us and we used them to make a simple outline of our face. And Tallulah did a really good job drawing her hair! Then we went in with watercolor to finish our faces and think I took the longest because I really wanted to get the right shade for my skin.
Creating the Background
Each day for a week we did a different part of the picture using different media like markers, prismacolor pencils, pastels, crayons, string, foil, glue, and plaster. The first thing that you look at when you look these is the our face but the background is actually really cool! We drew lines going out from our head and filled each section in with things like our names, our birthdays, our favorite bible verse, abstract lines, and something we like. Each one is very specific to that person which makes them all so different and unique!
SelahMae
We all wrote our names on our pictures. I wrote SelahMae instead of Selah because Mae is my middle name and I like it when people call me by both names together! The next section has curvy lines. My mom asked us if we were walking on a sidewalk how would we walk to describe our personality: I chose curvy lines.
Next we chose a favorite Bible verse. I chose Psalm 149:3, “Let them Praise his name with dancing.” This verse fits me because dancing is one of my favorite things in the whole world. It almost seems like this verse was written just for me. I don’t really know why I chose flowers for my background; it just felt right. (Also clogging shoes are too hard to draw, lol. 555.)
Tallulah
I think Tallulah did a great job. She wrote her name and her birthday herself. Mom wrote her Bible verse which is Psalm 139:13-16. For her line section, she drew all of her made up letters which I guess is perfect for her. In her last sections, she worked really hard to trace circles and made a Captain America shield because Captain America is her absolute best friend!
Jeremiah
Jeremiah wrote his name nice and big. He wrote his Bible verse and made some 3D lines which I think look so cool. Since his birthday is in July, he made some fireworks.
Josiah
And last but not least: Josiah. Josiah wrote his name in a really cool way. Also, for his lines he just made them nice and straight which totally fits him. His Bible verse is Collossians 4:18. He wrote his birthday in such a creative way because it looks like a code. He also cut out a piece of sheet music and glued it to his picture since he is really good at piano. I like the detail that he splattered paint to make freckles on his face. I think his is really awesome!
Finishing Touches
We made all of our shirts our favorite colors so mine is teal, Tallulah’s is purple, Jeremiah’s is green, and Josiah’s is this yellow orange color. Well actually Josiah’s favorite color is black but that is not on the color wheel so he picked this orange-yellow color. It had to be on the color wheel because all of our Bible verses are our complementary colors so mine is orange, Jeremiah’s is red, Tallulah’s is yellow, and Josiah’s is blue.
After the background was done, we added some finishing touches like adding texture to our shirts with plaster, glue, string, and toilet paper tubes. We also added string to our hair and foil somewhere on our picture. Can you find where we put the foil? COMMENT BELOW where you think we each put it! (Hint: we each put them in different places.)
-
Dance, Friends, and Fun!!😁
I went to a camp called Discovery Youth Camp. The camp was hosted by people who came from Hong Kong to Chiang Mai. The camp started and 8:30 a.m. and ended at 5:00 p.m. every day for one week. In the morning, we went in for worship and a message.✝️
After worship we had a snack that was usually watermelon and yogurt with cereal in it. Next we came back inside and divided into groups. Before the camp started we got bracelets with different colors to tell you which group you were going to be in. I got red. In our groups, we talked about the message and got to know the people in our group. Then we would head back outside for lunch. For lunch there was always something spicy, something not spicy, and rice. After lunch we had free time, though for me free time was just waiting for free time to be over to we could do breakout sessions😏. The breakout sessions were by far the best part of camp!
The breakout sessions were the reason I wanted to sign up for camp in the first place! When we signed up for camp, we got to pick which breakout sessions we wanted to do. There was drama, vocal training, worship band, and urban dance. Obviously I picked dance!😉 The dance was really fun to learn and really fun to perform. The teacher was a man from Argentina who was a competitive dancer. It made me feel special that he put me in the front of the formations and gave me a special part! Here is a video ⬇️ (I am the one in the braids):
(If you like this video, please make sure to give it a thumbs up and subscribe to our YouTube Channel!)😋
After the first breakout session, we would eat another snack (this one was usually just a bag of chips and a juice box) and then we would head out to our second breakout session. Instead of the same breakout session every day, this one was different every day. The first day I did arts and crafts, the second day I did bracelet making, and the third day I did arts and crafts again. I was expecting to do the same craft both days but the last day we actually did a different craft so I was lucky.
That’s how it went for the first three days, but the last two days were a bit different. On Thursday, we watched a movie instead of our breakout sessions (I personally would have rather done breakout sessions but it wasn’t my choice). That night we stayed for dinner and a worship concert. I was able to invite friends and all of these friends were able to come with me!
On Friday afternoon, we did rehearsal for the show. On Friday night, my family and friends came to watch me perform (that’s why I have a video that you saw earlier). These are the people that came to my show!
I had a lot of fun at camp and I am really glad I went. I think my favorite part was performing since I haven’t performed in awhile and I LOVE doing it!!!😍 But I also think that one of the coolest things about this camp was that about 75% of the kids who came to camp were from another country where they aren’t supposed to worship God. When I asked people were they were from, I found out that some of them came to Thailand just for this camp. Even though English is their second language almost all of them were fluent in English: FLUENT to the point where I couldn’t even tell that English was their second language! Even the 8 and 9 year olds! That really inspires me to work on my Thai so that maybe some day will be able to speak Thai like they spoke English!
-
Want to ELIMINATE child trafficking? Pray for Saul.
I’ve been reading through the book of Acts as if I’ve never encountered those stories before. With that frame of mind, I’ve encountered these familiar narratives from unfamiliar angles. I am discovering ideas and experiencing insights slightly different than I remember. The Sunday school felt board teachings are being eroded away and replaced by a harsher reality. Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it is my station in life as a missionary. Maybe it’s God deepening my faith. The reason pales in comparison to my newfound understanding.
Before the name change, Saul was particularly evil. In my previous readings of Acts, I rushed past the accounts of Saul hunting down new believers, ripping them from their homes, trumping up charges against them, locking them in prison, and stoning people, all because I knew Saul was later the Apostle Paul and Paul blends better with my sensibilities. Saul was not just a passionately religious jerk. He was a militant terrorist of the early church.
Acts chapter 9 starts off with a doozy, “Meanwhile, Saul was still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples. He went to the high priest and ask him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, whether men or women, he might take them as prisoners to Jerusalem.” If I stop right there, and know nothing more about Saul’s story, I’d label him a tyrant. Just imagine “breathing murderous threats” being used to describe someone’s demeanor. Chapter 8, verse 3, says, “But Saul began to destroy the church. Going from house to house, he dragged off men and women and put them in prison.” This man is a church sponsored vigilante. He approved of the stoning of Stephen by personally overseeing his execution. He’s the guy I’d cross the street to avoid walking past, afraid to accidentally make eye contact with. If I was in my car, I’d lock my doors and pretend to be distracted for fear of drawing his ire.
Knowing Saul eventually became the celebrated Apostle Paul, my tendency is to rush past the discomfort of knowing just how terrible he was; or worse, dismiss the severity of his actions. I say “worse” because, if I’m being honest, what I’m really saying is that if Saul was really as bad as the writer Luke described, God wouldn’t have used Saul. In essence, I don’t trust God’s judgment. Either God didn’t know how bad Saul was or Saul wasn’t as bad as it seems. But there’s a third option. One that really grates on my preconceived notions and requires I allow myself the horror of admitting that while Saul was the evil and murderous marauder, God chose him. I’m not alone in thinking this. Ananias was clearly thinking the same thing.
“But the Lord said to Ananias, ‘Go! This man (Saul) is my chosen instrument to carry my name before the Gentiles and their kings and before the people of Israel.’” – Acts 9:15 (emphasis added). Ananias had just been instructed by God to speak to Saul directly and pray for him. Ananias’ response is certainly the one I relate to, “Lord, I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your saints in Jerusalem. And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.” – Acts 9:13-14 (emphasis added). Ananias is saying the quiet part out loud. “Um, hey God. Do you know about this Saul guy? He’s like a really bad dude and does mean things in your name. Not certain you’re aware he’s claiming your name for with his actions. And you’re not a bad God, so, I don’t think you meant that I should pray for the bad guy, because you don’t do those crazy things. Just thought I’d help you understand the situation down here because it seems like you aren’t thinking clearly. Hope that helps. Now, that we have that straightened out, what do you really want me to do?” If I were to be radically honest, it’s hard for me to believe God would choose to use someone as malicious as Saul for His glorious purpose.
What does Saul have to do with the terror of human trafficking? Why am I taking the time to write this post and hash out my thoughts? Because Saul isn’t some far off guy we have no association with. He’s not just a character in a historical and religious text. Saul is alive today and his atrocities are terrifying us just like first century Saul’s actions did a couple thousand years ago. Biblical Saul was a known man, with a known face. Today’s Saul is someone we’ve never met, yet the world is waking up to see his actions. Americans are waking up to the horrors the “Sauls” of today have with their power, influence, and reach, as well as the depth of their depravity. The size and nebulous nature of our modern era Saul leaves us with a feeling of helplessness as to do anything about him.
Movies like The Sound of Freedom, among other documentaries, reports, articles, discussions, court cases, and interviews are introducing people to the present day Saul’s of this world. I’m not referring to the people who are purchasing kids, I referring to the kingpins at the top of the stomach churning power pyramid, who profit from the sale of children for sadistic pleasure. While the biblical Saul was persecuting the new church because of self-imposed moral superiority to please God; the reality was he was an offense to the God he was trying to please. On the road to Tarsus, Jesus confronts Saul and says “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.” Even though there is no account of Saul attacking Jesus personally, any persecution of those whom Jesus loved is an attack on Jesus himself. Time and time again, Jesus expressed his love for children and instructed people to care for them. Ergo, harming children is attacking Jesus. When Saul snatched Christian men and women from their homes to stone them to death, that was an attack on Jesus. Yet, in spite of that attack, Jesus chose to step in and confront Saul, but not only to stop him, but to use him. This is what I get wrong. If I were Jesus, I would have swiftly ended Saul’s evil reign. But Jesus claimed Saul for himself, renamed him Paul, and the entire world has been blessed through Saul’s conversion.
My prayer has been for the Sauls of our day: the ones who instigate and profit from child trafficking on a global scale. I want to see child trafficking in all its forms cease immediately, and I’m committed to the cause. But my timing is not God’s timing. My ways are not His ways. Those are GOOD things. Thank God I’m not God. As I pray for the Sauls at the top of the heinous power echelon to encounter the course-correcting, name-changing Jesus, I will daily go to work helping to rescue and restore children already caught in their evil snares. I am convinced that the work we and others around the globe employ to combat the scourge of trafficking is a great and noble effort. Children are being rescued and offenders are being arrested and prosecuted. There is no wasted time, opportunity, or effort to rescue children from the talons of dark and evil villains. However, if we think these efforts will solve the problem, we’re bailing a sinking boat with dixie cups. We need holes plugged and the only way that can happen is for Saul to meet Jesus and have his name changed. God only knows what can happen then.
This is the paradox we live in. Want to stop child trafficking once and for all? Pray for Saul.
*Do you know your name? Have you had your own “on the road to Tarsus” moment where Jesus called out your true identity? I’ve been diving deep into this topic and first wrote about it here. Walking in the way God designed me and knowing my name has transformed my faith and want to see others experience the joy I’ve discovered.*
-
Get Used To Different
It has been over a month since my last post and a quick scroll down the homepage would say it is my “turn”. But words are coming hard for me. Everything is. Life just feels hard right now, but it is difficult for me to explain just how or why, beyond anecdotal examples of the small daily frustrations I encounter here and there. I think it is because everything is different. Not all bad. Not all good. But very different.
As a homeschooling mother, my main job right now is to re-establish the routine of the homeplace: basically doing the same things I’ve always done in a new place. But it is hard to do the same thing when everything is different. Knocked out of my rhythm, I feel a bit off-balance and even small daily tasks require too much attention and decision. Right now I struggle to think of a single thing I do each day that is the same as it has always been. EVERYTHING is different.
The sounds are different: different birds, different bugs…bigger. Different words and voices and songs.
The smells are different. I hear the rain and open the windows: but can’t find the smell I always knew. A smell I fail to even remember well enough to describe: help me friends…was it grass? soil? With something sweet? I don’t really know how to describe it here either, just different.
The flavors are different. We might find butter, chocolate, avocados: but in your mouth they aren’t familiar. There is a subtle nuance in flavors such that basic comfort foods fail to deliver. I am working to adapt to new staple ingredients, but new ingredients mean new recipes, new utensils, new pans, new methods. For some that might sound fun. For this cook and grocery shopper, I admit it is mostly daunting. Probably because the food is different, my body feels different, too. It is exhausting to have no respite from all that is unfamiliar, even inside myself.
I sit here at my desk a stack of papers and notes next to me. It is printer paper, but a different shape (My PDFs run off the page on the long side and also leave a huge margin on one side along the short side…an annoyance to this recovering perfectionist and her like-minded children doing school on lopsided worksheets). Also, the pens have smaller ballpoints, so my handwriting looks a bit like someone else’s. That is supposed to mean something. Am even I so very different?
I brought the most important pieces of the life we left behind with me: they are different, too. Rod has more confidence and purpose than I have ever seen in him and that changes my role in his life. We moved here with three “littles” and one very tall eighth grader. Now I am the mother of mostly high school and middle schoolers. Even our youngest will be hitting double-digits this month. All these new life phases are bombarding me each day without my permission. So much that is so different.
The kids and I are working on putting together our own synoptic gospel as we study all four gospels together during our school day. As a part of that process we are re-watching The Chosen. If you’ve been following with this amazing show, you might recognize the bumper sticker phrases #LookUp or #ComeAndSee. During Season One, it was #GetUsedToDifferent. That is the part of the story we are in right now. And so I am. We are. We are all getting used to different.
I fear my tone is–once again–desolate, sad, even whiney. That isn’t how I feel.
Sometimes a fog sits heavy around me, yes. Sometimes I feel I’m just spinning my wheels trying to do the same things I’ve always done (cooking, cleaning, and working to develop and find meaningful outlets for my children’s amazingness)…even though that same thing I’ve always done is different here, harder.
Still we plug away and find new blessings when we look for them. I’m certainly not doing it perfectly, but God loves me anyway. When I can see clearly, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.
God is too good,
his world too wonderful,
his work too astounding
to stay in the fog when the sun is shining.
Here are a few things that have me feeling blessed beyond measure recently:
#1) Have you ever heard a seashell orchestra in real life? The way the waves catch the shells and then send them clinking together on the way back out is such a uniquely beautiful sound. I’d never heard it before, and it took my breath away. The whole earth sings praise. (The video doesn’t do it justice, but we tried…)
#2) Baht are PERFECT for illustrating borrowing. Such a fun blessing as we wrapped up 3rd grade math and reviewed all the sticking points!
#3) I caught these two spending quality time making music together. I was able to sneak the phone around the corner just in time to catch this. They are both shy to share these talents, but I pray they do this together more and more!
#4) Isn’t this symbiosis of life so pretty?
#5) These two American girls brought up the rear in the three legged sack race.
-
A Little Blue Book With Enormous Privilege
The Passport of the United States of America is in many ways, unremarkable. Sure, it has all sorts of security attributes similar to the American financial currency in an effort to combat counterfeits, but in reality, its nothing more than three and a half by five inches in size, several blank pages, some inspirational and patriotic quotes, personal identifying information, a picture or two and a stiff cover. It isn’t bullet proof. It isn’t fireproof. It isn’t even waterproof. It won’t save your life in the event of a water landing or keep you from unwelcome calls about your vehicles’ extended warranty. It truly is just a little blue book weighing no more than a few ounces. Yet in spite of its physical weight, the weight of privilege that book carries is beyond measure.
For those of us born in the US of A, we typically have very little interaction with our federal government. No matter how much we complain about their action or inaction, we take for granted the significance of being an American by birthright. If any natural born citizen stays within the physical borders of the Land of the Free, there is no reason to need the little blue book of privilege, therefore there are likely millions of Americans who don’t even have one. It is only when leaving the fruited plains and entering a foreign land where that book that can’t be of more significance and value.
Posted clearly on the first page of every US passport under the Great Seal of the United States are the following words:
“The Secretary of State of the United States of America hereby requests all whom it may concern to permit the citizen/national of the United States named herein to pass without delay or hindrance and in case of need to give all lawful aid and protection.”
The words themselves are just a string of letters and spaces. The Great Seal itself is nothing more than some ink and artistry. But what they represent is the full force, power, weight, significance, and dignity of our country. That little blue book that fits in any pocket is backed by the entire worldwide reach and influence of the Red, White, and Blue.
As I find myself now living in a foreign country as a guest of this host nation Thailand, I have spent more time dealing with immigration paperwork, procedures and officials in the past few months than I’ve ever spent in my previous 39 years in America. I’ve stood in line. I’ve waited for my number to be called. All the while praying that my proverbial ducks are in their proper rows in order to be permitted to stay in the Kingdom of Thailand. While the process has been stressful, maddeningly inefficient, chaotic, and at the same time boring, the truth is, I am still a citizen of the United States of America. I have a home country in my pocket and not just any country, the country with the blue passport.
The Kingdom of Thailand has every right to rescind the privilege of residing in their country and as much of a bummer that would be, I could freely return to the USA. Additionally, if I need emergency help while in the Kingdom, I can visit the consulate or embassy of The United States. I am lawfully and rightfully granted access within the walls of the nearby consulate because of my little blue book where any other color book is turned away. The consulate or embassy are just extensions of my home turf. Walking into the consulate is stepping foot onto American soil. The value and power of that book are tremendous, and every foreigner knows the importance of always having their passport accessible, as well as the potential ramifications of misplacing it. That seemingly insignificant book is proof positive of who you are and which country you belong to.
Why is all this important? Because having a country is something I take for granted, especially considering my country is the world’s preeminent superpower. I have started reading the book of Nehemiah alongside the men I work with. Within the first few sentences of the first chapter, Nehemiah is informed by his brother Hanani that their capital city of Jerusalem as been sacked. The walls have been broken down. The city is on fire. At hearing the news, Nehemiah wept for days. For context, Nehemiah is in exile. He is prisoner in a foreign land and has just learned his home country’s capital city ceases to exist. Trying to not just read the printed words on the page but rather attempting to immerse myself into what Nehemiah was experiencing, I’ve tried to comprehend why he would mourn for days. While I would be horrified if Washington DC was sacked, I’m not confident my emotional reaction would be on par with Nehemiah’s response upon learning Jerusalem’s fate. The closest memory I can conjure was the raw nerve exposure and vulnerable feeling I had watching the twin towers collapse on a Tuesday morning in September. Everything I thought I knew about the safety and security of my home country was shattered watching the events unfold on the tv screen.
Where my first-hand experience falls short is that as bad as 9/11 was and the overwhelming emotions that flooded me, I was still within the borders of our great nation. We still had so many aspects of what makes America great available, even while the towers were in rubble and thousands took their last breaths. But Nehemiah’s home country wasn’t the size of modern-day America. Israel is roughly the size of New Jersey. Think if the USA was just the size of New Jersey and the towers were on the other side of the bay in Newark rather than Manhattan. With that in mind, now picture 9/11. Imagine that feeling of exposure. That is the context of Nehemiah.
Nehemiah was more or less a prisoner of war. He was quite literally a prisoner in service of the government that forcibly removed him from his home country. But there was hope that maybe his home was still home. Hanani’s words shatter the little hope Nehemiah might have had. In comparison, the privilege I feel having my passport is because I have a powerful country backing that small blue book in my pocket. Nehemiah didn’t have passport, and even if he did, his country ceased to exist. Without my country, my book is no more than ink and paper, a reminder of former significance. Without the USA being the beacon of freedom for the entire world, my security is no longer secure.
Have you ever thought about the significance of having a country to call home? I personally know people who don’t; they have absolutely no country to claim. Every place on earth makes them at best illegal immigrants and at worse invaders. They have no government to represent or aid them. There is no social safety net. No rights. No protections. Nothing. My blue book carries much more significance than just boarding planes and enduring international flights.
In a few days, it will be my first-time celebrating the Fourth of July without a homefield advantage. Independence Day takes on a new significance for me. The circumstances are reminiscent of a tree and branches. We now live out on the tip of a proverbial branch, far from the security of the mighty trunk, and ever mindful of the terrifying ease at which we can be cut off. Trees can live without a few branches, but branches can’t live without the tree. Makes me think of another pertinent analogy told about vines and branches. Guess that will be a topic and post for another day.
In an effort to bring this thought train to station, enjoy your Independence Day. Celebrate it with friends, family, BBQs, fireworks, apple pie, sidewalk chalk, parades, potato salad, car shows, flags, brownies and ice cream. Keep the America I love going strong. Look after your neighbor. Kiss your spouse. Love on your kids. Laugh with friends. Befriend a bald eagle and teach him to light bottle rockets just like George Washington. Belt out the Star-Spangled Banner at the top of your lungs. Raise a flag. Kneel and say a prayer thanking God for the blessing of being an American. Folks like me, who rely on that little blue book of privilege, count on people like you, ensuring that book never loses its power.
-
Lay Down Your Old Chains. Pick Up Your New Name.
It’s still June. You’d have to be living under a rock at the depths of the Mariana Trench to not know about Pride month, which in essence is an entire month dedicated to identity. While I have plenty of opinions on the merits or lack thereof regarding an entire 30 days dedicated to the discussion of orientation, I’m more drawn to the idea, the concept, the value of identity and its implications on our individual lives.
Several years ago, I pondered the impact of a name. When something inanimate, or even a typically mundane creature gains a name, the level of importance, value, and dignity changes. A dentist hunted a lion. No one cared. But that lion had a name: Cecil. And suddenly he wasn’t just a feline anymore. His death subsequently gained worldwide attention when before we’d be hard-pressed to think of any other time a lion was hunted became noteworthy. A law in Colorado is referred to as the Samson Law because an archery hunter killed an elk. Not just any elk, an elk named Samson. I ruminated on the idea of abortions and what their prevalence would be if we first called the “clump of cells” Rebecca, Stephen, Megan, Quinton, or Sarah. Would we toss their small bodies in trash cans if they had names? I’m not certain we’d be so cavalier about the procedure if we named the “fetus” before executing them.
What is the value of a name? If you have kids, think about how difficult it was to name them. How many names did you discredit because of negative experiences associated with a person bearing that same name? In many cultures, names are given or changed later in life to further describe the character or calling on the individual. Simon became Peter. Saul was renamed Paul. Here in Thailand, people are often given names but later given nicknames that help define who they are. A translator I knew was nicknamed Shopping because after a rather abusive and demoralizing encounter with his father, his mother took the young boy to a mall where the big letters SHOPPING were displayed above and whispered in his ear, “Someday you will be as big as that mall.” She was trying to keep Shopping from identifying himself as the victim of abuse and to call him to rise above it into something great.
Our names convey identity. We all want to be known. We’re in a constant state of tension between wanting to stand out and yet not be alone. We want to belong. We carry the burdens of past labels: whether someone had spoken them aloud or they were descriptions we placed on ourselves. We’re in a never-ending battle to overcome those false identities. Do we believe we’re stupid, incompetent, ugly, childish, insignificant, or afraid? Where do those identities come from? Why do we think those thoughts and believe those identities? Are they even identities in the first place? Have we elevated a lie and given it authority to define us?
It seems so many self-imposed identities are not identities at all. We drop a plate and suddenly we’re clumsy as if we’ve never been able to carry a single object without breaking it before. We make a mistake in a 4thgrade spelling bee and suddenly we identify as stupid. Our bodies haven’t grown at the same rate as our peers so we believe we’re ugly, gangly, and unworthy. It’s remarkable really. Honestly, it’s so easy to see how others live their identity lies yet we’re blinded to seeing our own.
What if we had a given name? Not just a name our parents may or may not have labored in vain over. But a true identity given to us by the One who actually formed us? Is it possible that He who knows the hairs on our head cares about speaking our true name? The Great God of the universe, the One who SPOKE everything into existence. The One who devised the greatest caper of all ages to rescue those who could do absolutely nothing for Him by sacrificing himself on a Roman cross. That God, who took on flesh, walked this earth, dined with friends, laughed, cried, and told stories, is the God who speaks and calls us by name. Not the name on our birth certificate, but our real name. The name that conveys our true identity, the one He crafted.
What if we knew THAT name? What if we lived THAT identity? I asked myself those questions and honestly, the implications of the answers fired me up. If our great God who sent His only Son to lavish abundant grace on us calls me by name, why don’t I know it? Why can’t I hear it? It seems like a cruel joke. But then, what if I could hear it? What if I discovered and knew my given name? What if the God who speaks calls me by name and I actually hear it? What then? The excitement was powerful.
I believe we all crave an identity. Everyone. All of us. We desire to be known. We know we aren’t just another fish in the ocean, a zebra among a pack of stripes or bird in an indistinguishable flock. We’re more than that and deep down, we know it. But where does our identity come from? From ourselves? Are we sifting through personality profiles, feelings, and experiences? Are we trying to find our individual identity by placing ourselves into various groups, classes, orientations, clubs, and races? Or, is there a way to actually push through the noise, the junk, the lies, the hurt, shame, and chaos to find our true selves? If the God who created you as you and me as me, did so on purpose—with all our nuances, quirks, shapes, sizes, colors, and hair patterns the way He saw fit—is it too much of a stretch to think He actually has a name specifically for you? An identity? A real, authentic, and individually chosen identity?
I know mine. I just discovered it a few weeks ago. God didn’t just now give me a new name. It’s the name he gave me when He created me. It has always been there but now, I was given the tools to reveal it with intention. This discovery has transformed me. The transformation is not the same as going one way and now going another. Rather, it’s more like an expansion. Forgive me for the reference as it’s been years since I’ve seen the movie but maybe the experience is like Jim Carrey’s character in the Truman Show. His world was real inside that dome, but that wasn’t the real world. When he finally discovered there was more than what he’d always believed to be his whole world, things changed. He saw differently. He needed to see who he really was. But unlike a fictitious character in a marginally humorous movie, I have seen the lies, broken free, and found my true identity. I didn’t create my identity and it isn’t the one I would have chosen for myself. But it’s mine. Spoken to the deep crevices of my heart by the God who speaks.
I’ve been going to church all my life. I’ve heard all about having a “personal walk with Jesus.” I know about “praying without ceasing,” and “Love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul and strength.” I’ve been taught to read my Bible daily and pray so I can be close to Him. But I’ve never understood it the way I understand it now.
Maybe our lives are disconnected, lacking purpose, blown around, and shallow because we haven’t been taught how to be known by the one who knows and made us. Doesn’t it stand to reason that if you can truly know God and experience being fully known, just maybe some power or entity who detests God would want to prevent that heavenly orchestrated relationship from flourishing? The same evil that rejoiced when Jesus died on that cross is the same evil who got his teeth kicked in three days later when the tomb was empty. If the Father of Lies comes to steal, kill, and destroy, what makes you think you’re not on his list of targets? Why wouldn’t he make you believe a lie and draw up an identity for yourself through your own power? The last thing he wants is for you to be known by the One who created you.
If any of this pings deep down within you, I’d offer a book recommendation that guided my transformation:
Click here to purchase “Living Fearless” by Jamie Winship.
This is not a casual read but it isn’t some scholarly read for doctoral candidates either. Read it cover to cover over a dedicated course of a few days. Make the time to get away. Turn off your phone. Grab a notebook and a pen. Eliminate the distractions. When you’re done, I’d love to hear your name, that true identity given by the One who speaks.
Let’s lay down our old chains and pick up our new names.
(The title photo is just a beautiful photo I took on the beach in Penang, Malaysia where I read Jamie’s book and uncovered my identity.)
