I’m called Christian
It has often felt inadvertent, but the name I carry, the name my parents placed upon that fresh infant those decades ago, has come to define every aspect of who I am: who I follow, who I hope in, who I trust. I suppose that people don’t become too preoccupied with what their name means throughout their life. Nevertheless, mine felt charged with meaning (or expectations) from the day that I understood it.
I grew up more or less an adherent to Jesus’ teachings. That said, I found plenty of ways to struggle throughout my childhood and teenage years. I made plenty of mistakes. As my time under my parents’ roof came to a close, I chose to serve a 2 year mission in His name. While it was one of the greatest experiences in my life to that time, it was also extremely difficult. Serving in this way required a growth in maturity that stretched me in ways I thought impossible. During those years, He molded me to the required shape. And so, I returned with an desire to follow Him burning within me.
Banality subsequently set in. The busyness of my education and a budding career drew my attention for days, weeks, years, leaving me distant from the once vibrant yearning. Still, there were poignant reminders in marrying my sweet wife, Brooke, and in the shrill sweetness of my children's first breaths. However, little did I know how resoundingly that desire to follow Him would come flooding back in following the mortal parting of my wife.
In the stillness remaining after that horrendous day, I have found myself walking through the valley of death’s long shadow. While I have felt to succumb to the torturous agony in my heart, I still have found a way to not be permanently afraid. It has been because He is with me. He is reminding me of the essential growth that I must again endure. I trust Him completely, for the gift of this growth will be a perfect comprehension of some of the deepest human distress. It is for this gift alone that I would willingly submit to such a costly price.
So, what do I hope for?
I know that one day, the two hands typing this essay will feel the deep creases that scar his ever-familiar palms. These two hands will reach for the pierced hollow in his side. These two hands will brace me as I inevitably fall to my knees in his presence. And, these two hands will reach forward to Him as a symbolic manifestation of all the love, gratitude, trust, yearning, and hope that I could ever possess.
He will be there, dressed in sacred red as a remembrance of His great and final sacrifice for all of us. An infinite shout will go out, a reverent commotion that we can scarcely fathom. And yet, the glory of this moment, his eternal investiture, will still be drowned by how deeply familiar He is to me, to you, to all of us.
He will call me by name. I will go to Him, remarking in my heart of all the times I felt him do the same during my life. He will embrace me as I struggle through tear-filled sobs, thanking Him for healing me so tirelessly, ridding me of sin and pain so prevalent in life. Words will not be adequate in acknowledging his mercy. And so, I expect that I will cling to him for a seeming eternity.
In that moment the His promises to me will have the chance to be realized. It will be the culminating instant in which my happiness forever onward will be secured. He will look into my eyes and my most profound hope will be to hear him say, “Well done, Christian. Indeed you have followed me and been faithful in a few things. Enter in to my presence”. Perhaps after saying this, He will take his arm around me and walk me across the threshold of His heavenly kingdom and into the waiting arms of my dearest departed wife.
Why does my name have meaning? Why am I called Christian? It is not so much about an ideology or a religion. Rather, it is full trust in the one person who can grant me what I hope for most. It is all about doing whatever it takes to follow and hear Him.
