Percolating

I changed the name of my blog today. Yes, I live in a new city and have new thoughts. But Pittsburgh won’t always be new to me. And I love process, so the thoughts are always brewing, always percolating, rarely complete. What you see on my blog are moments during processes of discovery and realization. I revise every essay I write for school at least five times. If I had the time and the energy, I’d probably revise every blog I write that extensively too.


This act of renaming got me thinking. I realize that the name of a blog is not a particularly important thing, not like the name of a child, a best-selling book, an era in history. But any name carries some weight. I had a conversation with a friend on Saturday about names. She was recalling a dream-like vision during which her identity was entirely effaced. In the midst of her dream, she distinctly heard a voice say, “Joanie, you don’t exist.” Hearing her name, in spite of the falsehood to which it was attached, woke her out of the hallucination and restored a sense of hope. “I heard my name!” She exclaimed to me excitedly. “I realized that if I had a name, then I did indeed exist, so I just kept repeating my name over and over.” As she spoke, I remembered a Scripture passage I’d read the night before. In Isaiah 43:1, the prophet tells us that God has “redeemed you” and “called you by your name.” Redemption, the assurance of existence, a name.

In the New Testament we’re told that the name of Jesus is powerful. Sure, the name of someone strong and capable can conjure up feelings of security and hope. Lincoln. Armstrong. Ghandi. King. But this name, the name Jesus can cast out demons and call forth healing; this name can save.

When I was born my parents were expecting a boy. Though only 30 years ago, I suppose the technology used for discovering the sex of a baby wasn’t quite as accurate as it is now. I would have been named Joshua. But I wasn’t. My father named me Rachel which means “mothering, loving lamb.” As far as I know, Dad chose my name on the spot in his moments of surprise at having received a daughter. And so when God calls my name, it’s Rachel that He uses. Something about who I am is attached to that word. I am named. I exist. I am redeemed.

I’m glad God calls us each by name.