Your Name Shall Be

"No longer shall your name be called Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the father of a multitude of nations." Genesis 17:5

I may have written about this before, but here goes for another round. I have wondered off and on about names. It was fairly early in my teaching career that I noticed that every Brian I knew seemed to face challenges. They made trouble in school, were hard to miss because of strong personality, and were very active. Could there be something about a name that shapes a person, I wondered?

According to this website, where I looked up the name "Brian":

The meaning of this name is not known for certain but it is possibly related to the old Celtic element bre meaning "hill", or by extension "high, noble". It was borne by the semi-legendary Irish king Brian Boru, who thwarted Viking attempts to conquer Ireland in the 11th century.

That doesn't explain the Brians I know, unless you extrapolate that Brians are willing to stake out a "hill to die on," in terms of being less than malleable.

I still wondered.

And I wonder about other names. In the passage I quote at the start of this post, did it make a difference in the character of Abraham to have his name changed to mean "father of a multitude," rather than "exalted father"? What was the difference for him? Did he become different in any way because of that slight shift in meaning?

And what's up with all the people in the Bible whose names actually describe their stories? Samuel means "God has heard," and he was a child who was much prayed for. David's name means "beloved," and somewhere the Bible comments that David "was a man after God's own heart." Ruth, a character who stood loyally by her mother-in-law, bears a name that means "friend." Esther, the queen who shone for her beauty as well as her bravery, bears the Persian name that means "star." The name Moses is said to bear the meaning, "deliver." Elijah, the prophet who stood alone against Baal in the Mount Carmel story, has a name that means "my God is Yahweh." The new testament writer who began as Saul (which means "prayed for"), after his life-changing and debilitating Damascus road experience, becomes "Paul," which means "small" or "humble."

So did any of those characters get those names later, as people retold their stories? Or were those the real names? Did their characters determine their names? Or did their names shape their characters? Is it simply coincidence?

I wonder, off and on, about names.

My mom's name comes from a name that means "to speak well." And indeed, my mother was always articulate and had an excellent vocabulary up until her Alzheimers started to diminish her ability to find the right words. My dad's name means "God has heard" or "dark," both of which could describe his life when taken together. My brother's name comes from the Dutch nickname for Cornelius, which means "horn." Okay, it's a stretch, but my brother did once play the tuba in his high school band. Perhaps this whole name thing is a figment of my imagination. Perhaps not.

I was nicknamed "Ginger" by my dad, who started calling me that on the day I was born with red hair, despite the fact that my mom named me "Rena." You could trace "Rena" back to a meaning of "born again," according to the website, whereas "Ginger" refers to spicy-ness. No one ever called me "Rena" in my life.  I would theorize that my nickname, which I took on legally as an adult, shaped me. I do tend to live on the spicy side.

People have come to me over the years--just last week again--and commented on the fact that I'm a brave person, one who speaks up and people listen, one who is unafraid to call a spade, a spade. Fortunately, they tend to indicate that this is done in an admirable way, not just flinging about rude observations about the emperor having no clothes. I have to admit, I am pleased when I hear it. You may not agree with the things I say, but there is some worth, in my opinion, in standing up for what I think or believe. Because I am by nature compelled to please/appease people and seek their approval, I aspire to be a woman who can with dignity voice a personal stance or concern, and a solid rationale with my observations. I want to be courageous enough to speak up for what I see to be just or righteous (in the broadest sense of that word). Although I try to always consider other points of view and am willing even change my own point of view when it seems indicated, there are times to stand my ground, to know who I am and what I believe in face of who you are and what you believe. I have the right to that. I want to be able to calmly take the displeasure of others who may be unhappy with either the substance of what I said, or the fact that I was willing to voice it.

My hope and goal in being "ginger" about my world is that I will be kind--not destructive, not acerbic and not snarky--in voicing where I stand. I may be energetic in what I say, even dramatic in how I say it. But I hope that people on the hearing end of my words will always perceive that I am at my core respectful, personally interested in them, and value them as fellow humans of great worth in this journey, regardless of differences in opinion, belief, lifestyle, culture or ethics.

And I would hope for exactly the same courtesies in the way that others exercise their "ginger" with me.

Going Back

[Last night I had dinner in real life with my blogger friend Jayne, and it brought to mind for me how I miss blogging. I miss putting my thoughts down and thus finding out what I think. I miss having at least a few loyal readers dropping by, not necessarily agreeing with what I think, but doing me the great honor of reading, considering and commenting in some kindly way. So here we go again. I'm posting. And today my thoughts are on the portion of Bible I copied by hand this morning--a daily practice for me--from Genesis.]

Map from here

"[Abram] went on his journeys from the Negev as far as Bethel, to the place where his tent had been at the beginning, between Bethel and Ai, to the place of the altar which he had made there formerly; and there Abram called on the name of the Lord." Gen. 13:3-4

Going back to a place of spiritual significance is a recurring theme in the Bible stories.

Abram built an altar just after he entered the land of Canaan for the first time and heard the promise of descendants, near Bethel. It was to this place he journeyed from time to time to reconnect with God. Much later Joshua had the Israelites set up twelve stones to commemorate their crossing of the Jordan River. They were to bring their children back to hear the story there, to reconnect and to connect for the first time. (Joshua 4)  Samuel, later again, set up a memorial stone which he named "Ebenezer" to mark a time when God routed the Philistines after they invaded Israel's territory. (1 Samuel 7) Ebenezer was a place to reconnect with a memory of being saved from annihilation.

I think that most people have a place of spiritual significance... and I use that term broadly. It's a place where thoughts or experiences happened that seemed transcendent. I have several of those "going back" places. The first of mine is found at the north end of Hayden Lake in northern Idaho.

Picture found here

I worked at summer camp on Hayden Lake for two summers during my college years. Every morning I'd walk out to the campfire bowl where the view was in the direction of the above photo, and I would spend time seeking God. Above me towered huge trees. Right in my line of sight from my customary place on the wooden bench was a busy hummingbird, building her nest on a lower branch. Each morning I watched and saw the evidence of the eggs hatching, the bird feeding her babies and finally the little family abandoning the nest as they grew up and flew off. I can't recall any significant event that took place right there, but I clearly remember the feeling of well-being as I'd sit there in the mornings, putting first things first. When I'm in the area I like to return and to sit quietly, letting the senses of those mornings return.

Another significant spiritual place is the front room of the first house I owned, in northern California. Also the mornings, I would sit on the sofa by the window (you see the window behind the tall tree in the middle) with my mug of tea, reading my Bible and writing in my prayer journal. Significant insights bloomed there, troubles were written out and worked through, and people were prayed for. This was where I lived as I settled into my career as an academic, and where I dwelt as I got to know my husband and married him. Again the visual image and the feelings from those mornings are clear and happy ones, with the morning light streaming in the windows, the neighborhood quiet and peaceful. A friend lives there now and loves my little house, but I drive by whenever I'm "on the hill."

My third significant spiritual spot is an island called Koh Kood off the coast of Thailand where I visited, on my own, for a retreat when my work had been long and hard. I was contemplating a possible move to California and not knowing if the possibility would work out or whether I would feel free to move. On the way across the South China Sea to the island I was sitting alone on my bench in the boat and listening with an expectant heart. I didn't know what I was listening for. But almost loud enough to be audible there was a voice inside me that said, "It's time to go." Just like that, as I was looking at this cloud in the picture. "It's time to go."

The rest of my time on the island was precious, thoughtful, rejuvenating, and I have written about here. If I were to pick any place like Abram's Bethel altar that seemed life-changing in terms of an event and a connection with God, it would be Koh Kood. Abram only had to travel about 55 miles from where he lived in the Negev desert to reconnect with his place; when I return to Koh Kood--and I certainly intend to do so--I will have to travel for about 20 hours in a journey that takes me all the way across the Pacific Ocean by air, van and boat.

There is something compelling about a connection with a person or experience that is transcendent to one's frail human self, pegged to a particular place. I think it's a good thing to be able to return, to be quiet, to experience the memory of promises and insights, and "call on the name of the Lord," as it was described of Abram. A Bethel, or a Jordan crossing, or an Ebenezer. Whatever you call it, a going-back place brings us full circle in the very best sense of the word to a touchstone that signifies meaning in our transient lives. It's good.