Sometimes You Want to Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name -- Hope Chronicles 89

This week I've helped out some with my church's VBS -- entitled Kamp KidStuf. It's an offshoot of something we do every week during the school year. My role has been to take pictures. A couple nights ago, during a lull, I wandered outside. A father was saying that his 4-year-old (not from our church) wasn't sure he wanted to come. His explanation: "No one will say 'Jack'!"

Happily, he was wrong. The observant teacher read his nametag right away and called him by name. His fear of joining in was that no one would know him.

Honestly, that is one of my biggest fears too. It is the thing that makes me most timid.

The conversation reminded me of a show that aired when I was in highschool -- Cheers. It was set in a Boston bar called Cheers. The theme song went like this (be glad you cannot hear me sing):

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name
And they're always glad you came
You want to go where people know
People are all the same
Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name

Isn't that the truth? There is something so refreshing, so meaningful about being called by your name. It reminds me of last year when I went to She Speaks 2008. No sooner than I had stepped out of the car then Lysa Terkeurst yelled at me from behind, "Amy!"

Later that night I was working on my talk in the hotel lobby. Lisa Whittle scared me from behind. We had never met, but she recognized me from my blog and greeted me warmly.

The next day I was at dinner with people I had never met. Most of us blogged and we were sharing our site names. I said, "My blog is God's Work In Progress. . . ." Sharon, across the table, let out a shriek. "You're Amy L Brooke. You're AMY L BROOKE!" For a moment, I thought she was mocking me for some reason I couldn't fathom. It turns out that she had read my little corner of blogdom and was that excited to meet me.

Do those things happen every day? No. They don't even happen on a semi annual basis. But God blessed me that weekend by giving me that sense of "everybody knowing my name." More importantly, it was great reminder of the fact that God knows my name.

God knows my name. The God of the universe who fashioned billions of people knows me intimately. He calls me his child. He never fumbles around as we sometimes do, "Andrea, Amanda, who ever you are!" I am never out of his mind, never out of his sight, never out of the reach of His hand. That is a wondrous hope when I start to feel like one of many or even like no one in particular. God knows my name.

Remembering those events from She Speaks 2008, makes me want to be even more adapt at remembering the names of those around me and if I don't know them, sincerely greeting them like Sharon greeted me -- excited for the opportunity. Imagine the hope that might pass on.

40 to 40 (Gratitude 40)

This my last 40 to 40 post. (Though I may have to modify the button and throw in the idea of practicing gratitude every now and then.) I apologize upfront if it is on the long side, but there is so much to say.

Forty years ago today (11:09 EST to be exact), I made my way into this world with my sister close on my heels 5 minutes later. We were born several weeks early. I weighed in at 3lbs 4oz and she weighed in at 4lbs 3 oz. We were scrawny, tiny things. Though it's not the cutest picture of me, this is the earliest picture that I have of me:


But we grew. I think we were fairly cute by the time we were toddlers:




And here is a picture from elementary school which includes my younger sister, Cathy. Can you believe that long blond hair when we had very short, curly, black hair? She took after my father. We took after our mother.


And then the gangliness of the teen age years:



And then came the college years. Here I am with some of the crew from my School of Leadership Training family group:




And here I am just a few days ago with my friend Jill at the surprise party my community group through for me.



Doing 40 to 40 over the past month and a half has been good for me. The first few were easy. Then I hit a patch and it became harder. I didn't want to "cheat" and just start naming people or items, though there were people I mentioned as well as groups of people. I wanted each one to have some memory or really thought out gratitude to it.

My life is nothing like what I imagined as a child growing up. It's nothing like I thought it would be when I was in college. And it is definitely not what I've craved over the last few years. But doing 40 to 40- practicing gratitude- has helped my focus on the positives over the years with things ranging from an elementary school teacher to the church I am in now to an attribute of God. 40 to 40 has kept me focused on the vast amount of things that I have to be thankful for. Does it take away some of my heart's desires? No, but it does put into perspective all that God has done and is doing over the course of the last forty years.

Today's gratitude is that I am thankful that I know a living, personal God who holds me in the palm of his hand. There are several pieces to this:

He knit me together in my mother's womb. I struggle with knowing this deep down in my heart, but I am claiming that God knit me together without dropping a single stitch:

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderly made; (Psalm 139:13-14 NIV)

Not only am I created by God, He has called me by name and I am His. Names are so important. Just think of how good it feels when someone you've met knows your name. As a twin, I was always just one of the twins and always got asked, "Which one are you?" But God has never -- even as only one among billions and billions of people -- had to scratch His head and say, "Which one are you?"

But now, this is what the Lord says -- he who created you O Jacob, he who formed you O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you: I have called you by name and you are mine. (Isaiah 43:1)

I am a person riddled with fears. Very slowly God is helping to rid me of those fears. Scripture is clear even in the verse above that we should not fear because we have been redeemed by God. Psalm 23:4 puts it this way:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

I can hope because God is transforming me. I may sometimes wish it could be quicker, but I am not who I was yesterday or who I will be today. Colossians 1:27 says

To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.

More than anything, I can be grateful because God loves me. J. I Packer wrote the book Knowing God. One of my favorite passages in the book says this:

. . . There is tremendous relief in knowing that His love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on a prior knowledge of the worst about me, so that no discovery now can disillusion him about me, in the way I am so often disillusioned about myself, and quench His determination to bless me.

God's love is utterly realistic. He knows all the bad things I've done, the thoughts I've had, the times when I knew He wanted me to respond one way and I did something totally other. God knows all that and He still loves me.

Even in knowing all of that Zephaniah 3:17 gives a picture of how great His love for me is:

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.

It's hard to imagine that God loves me enough that he rejoices over me with singing. His love, despite all of the the things He knows about me, His utterly realistic love wraps around me day and night. It is for this love from a singing God that makes me stand in awe. I do not fully understand it. I do not think it has fully penetrated the depths of my heart and soul, but it is this tenderness and love for which I am most grateful.

And He cares enough to respond to the little details of my heart. I had thought that for this birthday I really wanted a cake. But I couldn't imagine a whole cake just for me and I didn't want to buy one and was unsure about making what I imagined. I imagined a round two layer cake with icing in between. On Friday my small group surprised me for my birthday. Here is the cake:



It was three layers rather than two. And God threw in some raspberry filling to top it all off. I hadn't told anyone about that desire. So, in my mind it shows God's great care even over something as small as birthday cake.





If you didn't see enough of my growing up pictures click here.

40 to 40 (Gratitude 8)

I don't know what my parents were thinking when they named me. I do know that they chose my twin's and my middle names by naming us each after a grandmother. But my parents never talked about why they named me "Amy."

When I was in junior high, I discovered that Amy means "beloved." I was actually pretty disillusioned about that because I felt anything but loved and it seemed either simple irony or some cruel joke for that to be the meaning behind my name.

But over the last several years as my roots have deepened in relation to God and through the care of others, I don't think that of my name that way anymore. I believe God is the one who prompted my parents to name me "Amy" and that He has gently whispered through my name "BE LOVED" over all these years. I'm just beginning to grasp the significance of that.

A Rose By Any Other Name -- Hope Chronicles 11

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose , by any other name would smell as sweet." It's a famous line from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliette. And the conclusion is that the name isn't what matters. Romeo would still be Romeo even if he wasn't a Montague (but it would have been easier if that was the case). A rose smells the same no matter what it is called.


Can I weigh in on both sides? Yes, a rose still smells the same, but there is something significant about our names. Why else would we be hurt when someone cannot remember our names? However, I am also willing to admit that this may be a pet peeve of mine. As you might guess from the picture, I am an identical twin. I do mean identical. We were constantly mixed up as children. I know the trick of telling us apart in some of the more "staged" photos. (We were placed in alphabetical order.) Give me purely candid shots and I am often guessing too!


Recently, I had some friends' children over. One found a tape and wanted to know what movie I had rented. It was actually a video made out of the reel to reel (yes, I'm dating myself) tapes of when I was a child. He wanted to see and asked, "So which one are you?" All the motion of two busy two-year-olds left it impossible for me to decide which one I was!



While some twins "outgrow" this identicalness, Sara and I still look remarkably alike. She recently attended the Hearts at Home conference in Grand Rapids, MI -- about 5 1/2 hours from where I live. Several people from my church are involved in Hearts. Sara had person after person come up and exclaim, "What are you doing here? I didn't know you were coming." To which she replied, "I am NOT who you think I am!"


In light of this, I'll have to forgive my grandfather for never knowing us apart. He called all the granddaughters "Honey" and "Missy" interchangeably while we were growing up. At about 14, it dawned on us to ask, "Now, which one am I?" We were horrified to find he didn't know!


Perhaps it is teenage girl thing, but I went through a phase of deciding what I would name my children when I had them. In bookstores, I could be found perusing the baby name books because somewhere in my head I had decided that when I named my children, I wanted the names to have meaning. This meant that they needed to be named after someone important in my life or that the name actually meant something. I planned out how I would tell them what their name meant and that each time I spoke their name I was speaking that characteristic into being in them. Lovely thought, isn't it?



At the same time, I could not resist knowing what my name meant. All the books agreed that "Amy" meant "beloved." However, I never had the courage to ask my parents why they chose that name for me. I know very little about the day I was born except that they had no clue that they were in for a bonus baby! I do not know if that excited them or overwhelmed them. I know only that we were premature and had to stay in the hospital for awhile and that Sara went home several days before I did. I do not know if they kept a vigil while we were there. I really know next to nothing.


But I do know that I did not feel "beloved." My family was a dysfunctional mess and "I love you" was not said and affection was not shown. (Even as adults, my sisters and I cannot seem to move beyond this.) I learned early on that it was better to read unobserved in the corner than to be noticed. If you were noticed, there was typically a sharp word or a criticism or a reprimand or any number of things. So, in my mind, I think I have always felt that it was some cruel joke like calling the fat kid "Skinny" to be called "Beloved" and not feel loved.


Most of my Christian life, I have approached God with caution. I've sometimes thought that I had snuck in the backdoor and could only stay as long as He didn't notice me. For awhile I opted out of church. When I came back, I came back literally trembling. For months I did not partake in communion just in case God might strike me down with a great zap from heaven for sullying His table after having abandoned church for so many months and being a sinner.

Luckily, even when I abandoned church, God did not abandon me. God has brought me into a great community of believers. From my friend Jill I have learned to say, "I love you." I also believe she has chosen to love me. I was (and to some degree still am) as prickly as porcupine when she first met me. (It can't be easy to love a porcupine!) Perhaps, more importantly than learning to say it, I have learned to hear it and receive it and believe it from others and God. I am still working to know how to rest in it.

Love. It drew Jesus to the cross for me. It made Him stay there until it was through when legions of angels were waiting for His call to sweep in and bring Him down from that brutal cross. For my sake, He endured the ultimate agony when taking my sin upon himself, God turned away. He did it for me. Because of that, I can never say that I am "unloved."

I do not profess to understand the book of Revelation. But with my fascination with names, Revelation 2:17 has always caught my imagination. "He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it."

A name only between me and God, written on a pure white stone. With as much as I've struggled to understand His love, I might not be surprised to find my own name written there -- "Amy, loved one." I have hope because of His love for me.