Has a Name

It is a daunting task to name a child. It will stick with them for the REST OF THEIR LIVES. When Patrick and I were first married we started discussing children and what we would name them. He insisted the children have the "W.P.M." initials. Patrick, his dad, and his brother all have those initials. So, it became a game. Wrangler. Winona. Willow. Willomena. Wilford. Whistler. Wynona. I told Patrick since I wasn't a WPM that the girls really didn't need to be WPMs and asked if the boys only could have WPM. He agreed. Names are HUGE! My daddy has a hard time remembering people's names, but he can tell you where they live and what they drive – sort of like a redneck savant, if there is such a thing. When we adopted our first child, we were still negotiating on her middle name the day she was born. Pearce's name had long been decided. William is Pearce's, Patrick's, and my daddy's first name. I'm intrigued by how people choose the names for their children. I know people who wait till after the baby is born to see what name the baby looks like. If I named my children after they were born Erin might be Bertha – even in the womb Erin was laid back and didn't want to move on out. Pearce would have been named String Bean because he was just skin and bones. One of the more interesting names I've seen is La-a (pronounced Ladasha). I, myself, was going to be Melissa Jo, but my mom's best friend delivered first and took the name – THANK YOU!

"He knows my name. He knows my every thought. He sees each tear that falls, and hears me when I call."

Out of all the people on the face of this planet currently, the ones that have previously walked on this planet and the ones who will tread this Earth in the future, He knows my name. He knows my name like He knows your name.

When I was growing up and all of my cousins would be in from out of town there would be an occasion that my Mammaw would have to call one of us on something. We weren't perfect, you see, and inevitably, Mammaw would start from the top calling out names till she got to the right kid. "Carrie, Kim, Kristy. Kristy, come here." Then there was Lori, Leslie, and Lauren. There were only two boys Jonathan and Peter, and they were rarely called down. My mom and her sister and their cousins who were also her neighbors had Sandra, Sharon, Shirley, and Sarah -- try saying those names fast four times. They were always called by someone else's name. I only have two children and invariably I will call Erin's name while looking at Pearce and vise versa. I'm their mother for crying out loud. I know who they are. I was there when we were working on their names. I was there when we filled out the form for their birth certificates, and yet, the wrong name will come out of my mouth.

It is unfathomable to me how God keeps everyone's name straight, and yet He does so much more than that. He knows our names. He has the hair on our heads numbered. He has allotted us the number of days we will live on this Earth. He knows what will happen tomorrow and the day after that for everyone, and what each one of us did this very time last year. He knows how to work everything out for each of us. He hears all of our prayers no matter the time, day or night for He never sleeps. He knows every language. He sees everything. Not even the most comprehensive computer could manipulate all that data much less contain it.

I am but one person in time, and I matter. I matter to my Creator. I matter to the One who is the Lover of my soul. And you matter too for He knows your name too.