I’ve always loved names.
“Your name means strong,” my mom said
to both me (Megan) and my brother (Michael, after the archangel)
and I thought, we must be strong.
I have never added a name to my mental list of
future baby names, never once since I was
twelve years old, without first asking Google what it means.
Maybe it started with the library shelves of teenage dystopia
that I ripped through, which always seemed to be
filled with names that packed rebel romance into
one single smack of a syllable.
I can remember the names of badly voweled fiction characters
but have to ask actual humans
to remind me at least three times after we first meet
before their names will stick.
Oh well.

I’ve always loved names, but most of all, I love nicknames.
My kids have hundreds. It’s a wonder they even respond
to the actual names we gave them anymore.
I’ve had two nicknames:
“Megs” – only used by family who has known me
since before I could talk (and my friend Anna), and
“Meg” – used exclusively by my husband.
He picked up Megs at a family birthday party when we were dating
and dropped the s at some point after making me his wife.
The way he calls my name is my favorite,
because he loves me like no one else.

We started going to a new church a couple of years ago, the
first place we have both forged the path of being the new people
at the same time. Somehow, up until then, in every group
we were a part of there had been at least one person
who had known one or both of us alone.
Here, everyone who knows us has only known us together.
And so now, even if I might have introduced myself as Megan,
the version of my name that they hear is
the one my husband uses
so that’s what they call me.
What a sweet gift to be called by the name he gave me–
a gift that no one knows they’re giving me.

I love nicknames because they can never be taken,
only given. (Just ask Andy Bernard, who is still not Drew.)
When you know someone well enough to call them their
nickname, sometimes it’s just an easy lack of
formality–but to be the one creating and giving them
your own version of their name, however silly or simple
it may be, is to call them Loved. Dear to your heart.

If hearing a syllable dropped off my name is sweet to my soul,
how much sweeter it is to know that the One
who chose me before the foundation of the world
not only has my name written on the palm of His hand
but calls me by names He made up for me:
A sheep of His pasture
A new creation
An heir of His kingdom
A temple of His Spirit
His own possession
His child
His friend
names I only have the privilege of bearing because of
three Roman spikes, an empty tomb and
grace that leaves me speechless.

And if that same grace has reached out for you
you are known in Heaven as one who is loved,
called by name by Love Himself.
Nicknames are sweet to my soul, always will be
but this is sweeter still.

Ephesians 1:4
Isaiah 49:16
Psalm 100:3
James 2:5
2 Corinthians 5:17
1 Corinthians 6:19
1 Peter 2:9
1 John 3:1
John 15:15
John 1:12

Posted by Megan

Hey there, I’m Megan! You can usually find me dreaming up a new project with my husband, trying to figure out homeschool with my two girls while my little boy explores the pots and pans cabinet, or excavating a pile of laundry with coffee in my hand. We live in New England and our dog is named Moose.

Connect: @lilac.and.sparrow