Hello, My Name Is... Marnie Pohlmann

The song by Matthew West begins with the words of this blog title. The lyrics begin by claiming the names of regret and defeat, but the chorus reminds us that our name is truly, “Child of the King.” I have been finding this month’s blog interesting in the variety of love, hate, rejection, acceptance of the names we are called in this world, and how exciting it is to wonder what our Heavenly name will be.

When I started school, I became confused when the teacher called me Marjorie. I had only ever been called Marnie. Who was this, Marjorie? I accepted being Marjorie at school, though, excited to learn to print that name. It had a lot of letters to learn but I was glad I did not have a shorter, more popular, common name. When I arrived home to show Mom my printing, she stated I had spelled my name wrong. Not only did I not know I was Marjorie, but I was Margery!

I am told I gained the nickname Marnie when I arrived home after my birth-day to a houseful of brothers who could not pronounce my name so shortened it to something they could handle. (I wasn’t the only one in the family that happened to. I’m sure one of my older brothers wouldn’t appreciate me sharing how I pronounced his name, which thankfully didn’t become his nickname!) 

I don’t really know why I was called Margery - the name or with that particular spelling. Marjorie is English, meaning “pearl.” Margery is English or Scottish, also meaning “pearl” or my preference, “a precious pearl.” The name was popular in Medieval times but was definitely out of fashion by the time I was born.

Oddly, my nickname Marnie was not found in baby books until recently. I was a teen when I first met another Marnie, with that being her actual legal name. Now I know of many others. Different sources explain Marnie is either Scottish, meaning “from the sea” or Hebrew, meaning “out of the sea.” I consider that information a God-wink, letting me know that whether I am called Margery or Marnie, I was meant to be a precious pearl gathered out of the sea.

The name Marnie is probably most known for not being a nice character, as in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie or in the book by our Inscribe President, Tracy Krauss. (Do you know which book my namesake is in?) However, in art, the meaning of my name(s), pearl out of the sea, has become a metaphor for something rare, fine, admirable, and valuable. I like that.

Pearls are formed to protect a mollusk from aggravation. A microscopic speck settles inside the mantle of a mollusk, which is irritated by the speck and so begins to cover it with a pearl sac. Layer upon layer grows the speck into a pearl. Pearls sold throughout the world today may be man-made, cultured, or farmed. However, the rarest and most precious pearls are naturally created in the wild. The pearlescence (white shimmers) or iridescence (coloured shimmers) are more spectacular on wild, natural pearls than those created by mankind.

I am understanding more each day how these names suit me. I am the woman I am today developed through the aggravations of life. Enduring pain is not how most of us would choose to live out our life. However, without the pain, I would not find it easy to recognize the need for God’s protective covering as he heals me to be who He created. The irritation has been covered with His iridescence. 

God has plucked me from the sea of sin, regret, and defeat to polish me as a child of the King; to be someone valuable in His kingdom. My second name, Ellen, means “light.” I am God's iridescent pearl out of the sea.

Marnie Pohlmann writes from northern British Columbia. She shares on her blog, Phosphorescent, how God continues to form her to be someone who absorbs and reflects His Light.

Photo of the girl from Pixabay.com

Photo of pearl in a shell from Pixabay.com

Photo of the pearl from Pexels.com

"Did the Nurse Tell You My Name?" by Sharon Heagy

 

“Did the nurse tell you my name?” I asked this question at the dinner table when I was young and it brought milk snorting chuckles from my siblings and amused smiles from my parents.  Though I had never considered how the nurse would know, in my mind every child was born with a name.

It was then that I learned my parents had chosen a name for me. I’m not sure what the thought process was in their decision making. Perhaps after giving names to five other children before me these two names popped up and they thought ‘these will do’. I do know, because of a mistake, my middle name became Leah instead of Leigh.  My Dad had misspelled my middle name on the registration and so I was named Sharon Leah.

Sharon means a fertile plain. Leah’s meaning depends on which origin you use, the most common from Hebrew meaning ‘weary’, the oddest, from another root, meaning cow.  Does that mean I’m just a weary cow chewing my cud on the plain? Perhaps not such a bad thing. Laying in the sun, contentedly chewing away. On a stress filled day it might be most welcome.

The mother of a friend of mine called me Heather. She said I didn’t look like a Sharon and she wouldn’t remember that name so she decided to call me Heather. I thought that was weird but I was a kid who didn’t generally talk back to adults so Heather I was.

My own Mom passed away in 2001 and much of the memory of the sound of her voice has faded away but I can still hear her calling my name. It echoes from the mists of memory. My Mom on the front step, calling me home for supper. Her voice landing on my ear no matter where I was on the block and above all the other moms’ voices who were beckoning their own kids home.  I can hear the hardness of the S and H when she was angry with me and the sigh of an ‘Oh, Sharon’ when she was disappointed. Just before she passed away she couldn’t speak or rather she ‘spoke’ but no sound passed her lips due to a stroke.  I often wish we would have had someone in the room who could read lips so we would know what she was trying to tell us in her final hours.

I’ve always thought a person’s name and their preference for what they want to be called matters a great deal. We should have respect for their moniker and not shorten or change their name to suit ourselves. And especially not change their name entirely, to say, Heather. (It’s a lovely name, so much softer sounding than my own but it is not mine.)

When our three boys were born, they were each given a middle name that reflected the family history on the Heagy side. Since my husband has 3 sisters our boys are the only ones who will carry the last name from his Dad’s lineage. It seemed an important thing for us to do. However, there are times when names like that can cause confusion. For instance, we know of a family where there are three generations of males named John and as a result, senior, junior and little were tacked onto their names to differentiate between the three. In my own family my Dad and eldest brother were both named Ronald and so senior and junior were quite often used for clarity.

Names are fascinating as are their origins. If we think it is challenging for us to name our children imagine when God honoured Adam with the task of naming all the birds and animals. It makes me wonder if he was running low on creative juices when he named the platypus. It is conceivable that the word ‘platypus’ was just gibberish.  I envision him rubbing his chin with his hand, weary and a little brain fogged, staring at the creature and saying, “Let’s see…. duck billed…. Platypus.” Then he and God had a good chuckle and kept the name in remembrance.

Whatever our names, whatever their origin, our hope is that they will all be found written in the ‘Lamb’s Book of Life’. Us, our children, our grandchildren…all. May we look forward to that day when we will be struck with awe and wonder as we hear our name spoken with love by the Lamb himself.

 

Naming Day by Valerie Ronald

 

Today is my naming day as I write this – April 14th, the day I was born. On a fresh spring morning I was placed in my father’s arms, a wee redheaded girl arriving after two sons. He named me Valerie, a name he liked in a book he had read, and Evelyn, after my grandmother.

When I was young I loved to hear the stories surrounding my birth. Shortly before my mother was due to have me, my father, a sailor with the Royal Canadian Navy, received orders to report to his ship for a four-month voyage. Out of consideration for my mother, he chose to wait until after I was safely delivered to tell her he would be leaving soon. She was a seasoned sailor’s wife, used to his frequent absences, however, with two small boys and a new baby to care for alone, she felt overwhelmed. She recalls waking up in the morning to a neighbor and her two daughters waiting in the kitchen with a hot breakfast and willing hands to help. They got her through those months before my father returned.

In elementary school I decided to change my name. I thought that Val, which I was called most often, sounded blunt and masculine. I wanted to go by my second name, Evelyn, or better yet, Eve ˗˗ more feminine, romantic names. My mother quashed the idea immediately. Your father chose a perfectly fine name for you, and that’s that, she informed me. Now that I have lived quite a few decades with this name, I must agree with her. I don’t know if my father researched the meaning of the name he chose, but I do believe God knew the name I needed in order to face life’s challenges. I have grown into my name.

The name Valerie has its origins in ancient Rome, feminine of the family clan name Valerius. As an English name it means valiant, strong, brave, fierce. It’s Christian connotation denotes spiritual purpose. Years ago I would have argued that I had been misnamed, if the meaning was meant to be indicative of my character. As a child I often felt inadequate, on the outside looking in at others who seemed more capable, smarter and better liked. I definitely would not have described myself as valiant, strong or brave. When I married, my perceived weaknesses were exaggerated and used by my husband to achieve his own selfish purposes. Years of emotional abuse left me with little sense of self-worth or dignity.

I am so thankful that my God saw value in a devalued woman. He stirred my soul to seek after Him, to discover who I am in His eyes. I kept these verses from His Word, and many others, close by to remind myself of how He saw me.

“Don’t be afraid. I have rescued you. I have called you by name; now you belong to Me. I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, the God who saves you. To Me, you are very dear, and I love you.” (Isaiah 43:1, 3, 4 CEV)

Gradually the qualities ascribed to my name began to rise up within me, revealed by God when I needed them most. He imbued me with fierce bravery as I fought to escape from an abusive marriage. When cancer stalked my body, He helped me face the life-threatening disease with valor, relying on His strength to emerge a survivor. My name’s connotation of having spiritual purpose was realized as I absorbed the deep lessons God taught me in the valley of my troubles. My spiritual purpose is to convey the truth of who He is to others through the gifts He has given me.

And my second name? Evelyn means to live; to breathe, derived from Eve, the first woman God created. When the apostle Paul gave his well-known discourse to the people of Athens, he said, “God gives us the power to live, to move, and to be who we are.” (Acts 17:28)

I want to live, to move, and to be who I am valiantly, strongly and fiercely, growing into the names God gave me before I was born.

Valerie's devotionals can be read on her blog https://scriptordeus.wordpress.com

Joy Comes With the Morning by Joylene M Bailey

 

I was only a little late for our pre-service choir rehearsal that morning, but our director was already finishing his short devotional as I rushed through the green room to get to the choir loft. As I walked through the stage door onto the platform, Blaine concluded his final scripture reading:

Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. - Ps. 30:5 

All eyes turned to me, and I took my bow amid laughter and chuckles.

Moments of perfect timing, like that one, don't happen very often in anyone's life, but when they do, the shared delight carries on with each retelling, like the ripple effect of a pebble dropped in a pool.

Joy is the serious business of heaven.

- C.S. Lewis -

I suppose that because Joy is part of my name (my full first name is Joylene - pronounced Joy-lynn), I'm consciously and unconsciously on the lookout for joy.

It's why I keep the window open in my study, so I can hear the birds chortling as they carry out their own ordinary day. 

It's why I have that special drinking glass that shimmers blue in some lights and purple in others. Even a glass of water tastes better when taken from that cup.

It's why I buy paper napkins in all different colours and patterns. I love napkins! They're perfect paper squares of glee.

Find ecstasy in life:

the mere sense of living is joy enough.

- Emily Dickinson -

Life can be full of grief and hardship, but I believe joy is there if you look for it. It's the looking for it, however, that I forget to do sometimes. I get stuck in keeping my eyes fixed on my feet and the rough road ahead instead of looking up and noticing there's more to life than concrete and cracks in the sidewalk.   

If you carry joy in your heart, 

you can heal any moment.

- Carlos Santana -

The various mugs and cushions around my house marked with the word joy are there to remind me to choose joy. Because it is a choice. A choice to raise my eyes from the crack in the sidewalk to the clarity of the sky; to put my trust in the Joy-Maker. After all, isn't joy actually looking for God at work - even in the tough times?

Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,

that we may sing for joy

and be glad all our days.

- Psalm 90:14 -

Photo Credits: all photos from Pixabay

1. Jill Wellington

2. Larisa Koshkina

3. Jill Wellington

4. ThreeMilesPerHour

5. Rudy and Peter Skitterians

Joy lives in Edmonton with the Cowboy and soon-to-be-married Babe. She writes about her name here on her blog, Scraps of Joy.