What’s In A Name
January 13, 2009
Monday’s post about Allison brought a pretty interesting question from my spiritual sis, Jennifer Lee. She equated what I went through with Jacob and his wrestling match with God. Jacob, of course, came through that with a busted hip and a new name—Israel.
So, she asked me, “What’s your name?”
Looking back over that period in my life is something I rarely do nowadays. It seems too distant and too painful. But I think it’s worth it. If life is a journey, then it helps every once in a while to look back and see how far you’ve come. And it helps, too, to see that the God you were ignoring all that time, the God you talked to only before you ate your meals and visited only on Christmas and Easter, was still paying attention to you.
Jennifer’s question lodged itself in my mind and wouldn’t budge, demanding my attention. It’s something I never really thought about but certainly should have. If that really was God I met on that high rock in the mountains (and I do think it was), then I came down someone very different from the person who went up.
You cannot meet God and come away unchanged. Because God is all about changing you. Making you something more than you are. And better than you are.
God didn’t change my name, though. I believe He didn’t think it was necessary. He had already given me the name I needed.
Billy is a simple nickname for William. Not a lot of Billys out there anymore, especially my age. It’s a little old fashioned and dated. Which seems to fit me quite well, thank you.
But William is a middle name. Used for years to hide my first name, which is even more old fashioned and dated.
Homer.
My father’s name. I’ve never gotten around to asking him why he was stuck with that, mostly because it never really mattered. My father was and is the greatest man I’ve ever known. Mention his name to me, and I gather the mental images of someone teaching me not only to fish and hit a baseball, but how to be a man. Homer isn’t his name. Not to me. To me, those pictures are his name.
I, on the other hand, never looked too kindly on my first name.
I always dreaded the first day of school, when the teacher would go over the roll, unsure of what to call anyone.
“Homer Coffey?” the teachers would ask. Always.
My hand would shyly raise, and I would suggest, strongly, that Billy would perhaps be more appropriate. My request would always have competition, though, against the snickers of my classmates. The only thing that quieted them was a whispered threat to beat up anyone who was laughing after school. I was serious, too.
I went through a phase in high school where the name didn’t bother me as much. Homer, after all, was the greatest Greek storyteller who ever lived. It was an honorable name, worthy of distinction. Then Homer Simpson came along and pretty much ended that.
You could imagine the jokes. I’ve been referred to by some as “Homer Billy Simpson” for years.
After Jennifer’s question, though, I decided to do a little digging. I wanted to know what my name meant. Not Billy. Not William. Homer.
From the Greek, I found. The word has a double meaning. “Hostage” is one. The other, “promise.”
Yes.
Because that is what I am. A hostage to a promise. A promise from God that no matter what I may do in this life, no matter what wrong turns I make or how badly I stumble, He will be there. A promise that says He will walk with me in the light and carry me in the darkness. And that there is nothing, nothing, that could convince Him to think otherwise.
I am a hostage. Oh, yes. Because there are times when I am too weary to believe, too scared to try, and too beaten to get up again. But just when I am about to stick my head in the mud and sink, I remember that night not so very long ago when a holy hand was extended to me.
“I won’t pick you up,” God told me. “I love you too much for that. But I’ll help you up. Every time. I’ll make sure that you’re life isn’t the one you think you want, but the one you know you want. I’ll make you love this world and not hate it. And I’ll make sure that when the end really does come, people will know you were here.”
The choice, as always, was mine. On that night long ago, I took that hand for the first time.
And I’ve yet to let go.
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14 Responses to “What’s In A Name”
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I’m a writer whose first novel, Snow Day, will be published by FaithWords in 2010.
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Mmmmm, GREAT post!
It prompted me to check a site to see what my name meant. I wasn’t surprised because I’d studied French at one time:
Sheri (typically spelled Sherry): Possibly from the French word chérie meaning “darling”
Hmmmmmm, I like Homer better, Hostage/Promise….Hostage to a promise…..
Great post! I really liked it. Lot's to think about here. We really put a lot of thought and prayer into naming our daughter because of the significance of the meaning of a name. She ended up with Reagan Daniel. Reagan = leader of the people & Daniel = God is my judge. Thanks for sharing!
Love it, love it, love it. Interesting how we males deal with people making fun of our names. My given name is Christian. I had Christ in my first name and God in my last name, and yet for so long ignored and ran from him.
While my name isn’t hostage or promise, that is my identity! The definition of Christian is: one who professes belief in the teachings of Jesus Christ. I like the definition, not the connotation. I prefer Christ-follower.
Be blessed today, Homer!
I like this reflection on your name. Think I’ll link to it in that “Becoming a Blogger” post… a little after-the-fact, but anyway…
You aren’t suppposed to make me tear up are you? Can you pass a tissue? Now my husbands going to think ‘Whaaaat now Sarah?? Jeez, females and their hormones!’ LOL
I absolutely love what you wrote Billy. I love how you associate (towards the end) that you are indeed a hostage TO a Promise (Him). And I think you hit the nail on the head, that when we use or hear or say a name what it means to each of us is something differently, depending on our relationship or experience with that name. For you your father’s name meant greatness, for me on the otherhand, my parents name would make me cringe with images of abandonment. So anytime I meet someone with either one of their names I’ll automatically be reminded of them and would more than likely not like their name. You’re absolutely right; it’s what one’s name says about themselves that makes that name positive or negative or indifferent. Great food for thought; lovely post! I LOVE IT!!!!
It occurred to me a few months ago that we often think that after a wrestling match with God, things will be righted–we’ll have fought through the wrong and all will be right again. But it wasn’t that way with Jacob, he paid for his wrestling match with a limp and his descendants with an abstention from the hipbone meat.
So it is with us–whenever we wrestle, we learn something valuable, and sometimes it means we are changed irrevocably. Sometimes what the world calls a limp, we call a reminder.
Names are important. That’s one of the things I like about Lord of the Rings, every character is introduced as “Gimli, son of Gloin” or “Aragorn, son of Arathorn”. That’s incredible if you think about it. It gives you your father’s legacy. It gives honor and tradition to your name. This is a tradition I’d love to re-introduce to our society.
I grew up a Simpson, when OJ was cool, and then came Homer and Bart. The teasing never stopped, but somehow it didn’t get to me much. I love hearing the story about your name and how you relate to it.
My son’s third grade teacher started the year asking them to tell the story about their name. It was a beautiful way to help each child understand their uniqueness and the thoughtful care that went into choosing each name. I loved talking to my son about the Biblical roots of his name.
Thanks for reminding me!
“I love what you’ve shared here, Mister Hostage-to-a-Promise. What a beautiful discovery you’ve made. Makes me wonder what I’d have to say about my own name. I was one of four Jennifers in a class of 37… Maybe a post is brewing here.
As usual, stellar stuff here at What I Learned Today.
Funny and moving; my dad’s name is Elmer; when it came to naming our kids the only thing he asked was that they not be named after him.
my first time here… hi billy!
my name, nancy marie, is not one that i have liked. but, now i am ok with it. though, by looking it up just made me face it even more. nancy has a meaning of grace, and marie means sea of bitterness…i wanted to slash the marie out of there right away! my mother had bitterness and passed some of that on to me, and i did not want to deal with it. but, i realized that the meaning of my first name saved me from that, i thought …well, there is always more grace to cover bitterness, and grace is stronger. so i live with the names and it remindes me that i am saved by the grace of God in Jesus.
now, i grew up in southern illinois and there are LOTS of williams and billys there. my dad and my cousin for starters. in that part of the country and farther south, it is the name of choice.
now homer…the double meaning of that really is cool about hostage/promise. the very thing about your life in Jesus!
plus home, with out the r that is, that is where we are headed after this life.
with both my dad and my cousin…everyone called them bill…EXCEPT for the mothers. their moms often called them billy, and somtimes their dads siblings. everyone else used bill.
my husband has always called me by my last (maiden) name…as did a lot of my friends in highschool.
my youngest daughter does not like her name and wants to change it…i said…go for it. but, she has not come up with anything else as yet.
i thought about changing my name, but instead, my mind and heart was changed.
anyway i looked up homer, and i think it means hostage in the form of a pledge.
From the Greek name ‘Ομηρος (Homeros), derived from ‘ομηρος (homeros) meaning “hostage, pledge”.
by the way has anyone ever called you hom for short?
a lot of people have called me nanc
pronounced nansss.
gotta go.
i added your blog to the old blog list!
see ya later.
n.
God didn’t change my name, though. I believe He didn’t think it was necessary. He had already given me the name I needed.
And here’s to never letting go.
Homer…wonderful that you are named after your dad. But I see more than a promise…I also see ‘home’ in there. And it seems as if when you grasped God’s hand you found a place of comfort, safety and love…just like home.
Thank you for sharing. I always enjoy your posts.