Journey in Nameless Grace

Everyone has a desire to know his or her name. … Go ahead; smirk as you read that line again. It’s painstakingly obvious, almost stupidly so. Why is that even an issue worth discussing?

Because honestly, epileptics (at least this one) and TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury ) patients don’t have that “stupid” privilege all the time.

It’s been almost 9 years (wow.. 9? Really?) since my first brain surgeries, 8 years since my last. My seizures no longer hold my identity captive and I am truly blessed. However, there are still days where I wake up and I have to coax myself into remembering my full name, my birthdate, and my family. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but it still does.
* Side note: I assure you, my Daddy-given quick-wit and intensive analytical skills come in handy. I can trick just about anyone into saying my name without them having *much* clue.

I’ve come to appreciate those mornings. Eh, appreciate is too strong a word. .. I’ve come to embrace those mornings. I still roll my eyes when I check my ID card, trying to make it look like I’m just affirming I knew where the card was. It’s not a fun experience. I’m a college student, I’M A JOURNALISM MAJOR; my name should no longer be a shocking revelation to me.

However, I’ve embraced those mornings more and more as my life takes on an increasing amount of normalcy. Those are the mornings I’m required to only claim what I know as Truth.

I (apparently) can’t remember my name, but I know I go by the title “The King’s Daughter.”

I (apparently) can’t remember my name, but I know God doesn’t forget my name.

I (apparently) can’t remember who I am, but I know The I AM.

All of the sudden, my name no longer matters in the grand scheme of things. I am on this planet to worship and glorify God. I am on this planet to do His will, and become more like His Son Jesus in the process.

None of that requires a name. The only thing it requires is God’s Grace.


One thought on “Journey in Nameless Grace

  1. One of my favorite worship songs is “He Knows My Name.” When I gather the energy to pluck my guitar, I often turn to this familiar tune. There is great comfort in knowing He knows me better than I know myself. Moreover, He gives me a true name, not the Babel-inspired flash-fame name I work for on my own. “Beloved son,” I hear often. Thanks for inviting me into your “Daddy-given quick-wit” brain.

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