I’ve read a couple of novels recently where one of the
dangers of life is to let someone know your “real name.” Apparently, once your
“real name” is discovered, the person (or creature) who knows it has power over
you and can use it against you. I’ve also read some things that encourage
people to tell their story as a way to both know themselves, and to open themselves to others honestly and meaningfully.
There are things in my story that I don’t want anyone to
know. Things that make me cringe when the memories break through cracks in my
carefully constructed internal walls. Some are just embarrassing, some are
heartbreaking, but every one of them is as much a part of my real name as the
things that I’m happy and eager for people to know. Mother, loving, faithful,
compassionate, helpful, funny, teacher, writer… those are my real name.
Forgetful, lazy, procrastinator, selfish, neglectful, liar, hack… these are my
real name too.
My story is filled with moments of grace – snuggles with my
children, laughter with my siblings and parents, falling in love with my
husband, moments where God has touched my life in very clear ways, opportunities
to minister to friends and strangers at church and out in the world. My story
is also filled with moments that I’d be happier not remembering. Things that
I’m so ashamed of they almost take my breath away. That time in 2nd grade
when I joined my schoolmates in making fun of one of the special needs children
at my school, losing my grandmother’s letters that I was transferring to typed
pages, hurting people I love with careless words. And other things that I can’t
say out loud for fear someone might hear and recognize me for the charlatan I am.
Depending on my mood and circumstances of my life at any
given time, I live fully into whichever set of names feels more real. And I
believe fully in my story of grace, or my story of disgrace, whichever feels
truer.
It’s easy to assume that I am alone in my duplicity. But it
is more likely that we all have names we don’t want people to know – stories
that we are too ashamed to tell. If we’re lucky, we learn from those stories
and strive to let go of the names we don’t want to define us. And for me, there are a few precious people out there who know
my stories, good and bad, and I’m blessed with their love anyway.
Finally, there is a prayer that one of our priests says at
the end of the service that gives me hope when the mostly untold parts of my
story break through the cracks:
Life is
short,
and there isn't much time to gladden the hearts
of those who travel with us.
So let us be quick to love, and make
haste to be kind,
resting assured that God is now, always
has been,
and always will be infinitely more
concerned with our future than with our past.
So may
the blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit
be upon you and remain with you always.
Amen
