That's Not My Name
"Alisha, Alisha!"The name echoes from across the room, but I pay it no min
d. I squeeze my way through the throngs of people shouting a mixture of English, Spanish, and some kind of Northern European language over the blaring 90s rock song. I pay the bartender 5 quetzales (approximately 65 cents) and he hands me a sticky mojito to match the sticky restaurant floor.I turn to walk away from the bar and finally see the friend I've been waiting for."Alisha, hi. I've been calling you," he says."Hi, sorry I couldn't hear you," I lie. I'd forgotten I'd once introduced myself to him as Alicia (pronounced Ah-lee-see-uh) when I thought he only spoke Spanish. Later I learned he also spoke English and took the liberty to back translate my name to Alisha. I didn't have the heart to tell him my real name is Alexandra."Come on, let's dance, Alisha," he says as he grabs my hand. Alisha, Alicia, he could even call me Allison as long as there's salsa dancing involved, so I swivel on the sticky floor and let him take the lead.***I've found identity is a bit more of a fluid concept in a foreign culture. Here I'm not just Aly, non profit writer, church goer, friend.Here, I'm any combination of Aly or Elly or Aleksandra or Alejandra or even Luis (yes, pronounced like the man's name, not my own last name). I'm "the girl I see at the park" or "the girl who's not a missionary or a bartender." The girl who kind of knows how to dance salsa. The girl whose Spanish is not completely unintelligible. I'm the gringa. The canchita (slang for blond or light-haired).The foreigner.Over the last few months, I've found myself focusing on the things that I'm not anymore: a responsible full time employee with health benefits, a member of Coast Vineyard, a citizen of San Diego, a roommate of dear, dear friends.For so long I've defined myself by what I do, where I go, how I spend my time, that this relocation has done a number on my own identity, on who I believe that I am.My church here in Guatemala just started a new series called “My name is…” (o mi nombre es…), which I find ironic because I haven't even come up with a consistent way to introduce myself here.I've given myself false names, both literally and figuratively: lonely, empty, alone, too shy, too scared, unproductive.I cling to these false names, false identities, and then sit back and wonder why I don't feel like me, the Aly that I know and love.I forget the Source of my identity has not changed just because I've changed time zones and zip codes and language preferences.With the new year, I've been thinking a lot about beginnings and new things. New verses, new names, a new life, a new chapter in this adventure.I've been snubbing discipline, effort, work, wanting this time to be a season of rest and recovery and restoration. But it's honestly been torture, feeling useless and unproductive.I think it's because I've forgotten the important work, the discipline that is life-giving and restorative.In their book, Compassion, Henri Nouwen, Donald McNeill, and Douglas Morrison write about this discipline:
“Discipline is the effort to avoid deafness and to become sensitive to the sound of the voice that calls us by a new name and invites us to a new life in discipleship.”
What if I focused my efforts on avoiding deafness? On listening to His voice? Instead of on the work I am or am not producing?What if I had the boldness to ask, "What is the name you have for me?" In this place, in this time, in this town? Even if everyone else gets it wrong or can't easily pronounce it or doesn't care to remember it, What is the name you call me?I'm going to be spending the next few days and weeks and probably months really seeking the answer to this question and I invite you to do the same.What is the name that He calls you? What false names and labels is He asking you to surrender?In my favorite poem, ee cummings writes, "now the ears of my ears awake."I pray we would have the discipline and the courage to awake our ears. To listen to His voice. To take on new names like Cherished and Loved and Free. To awake our eyes. To awake our souls. To move in the joy of the life He has for us, with the identity He gave us long before we were born and with the new names He seeks to give us now, in this place, in this time, in this season.Come Lord, awake our ears. Give us new names.
Five Minute Friday: Cherished
It's that time again...Five Minute Friday.Five Minute Friday is a writing flash mob of sorts started by Lisa Jo Baker. Every Friday writers from around the web write on the same topic for five minutes straight, no editing, no interruptions. Then they post what they’ve got and link up to the other writers.
Today's topic, fitting in with old rhymes and new verses, is CHERISHED.
GO...CherishedThere are so many names I give myself, so many identities I try on.Writer, daughter, friend, and gringa are a few of the obvious.And then the names, the words, that penetrate much deeper. That whisper in the silence. That fill my soul with dread.Unwanted. Alone. Lazy. Fat. Burned out. Unloved. Or worse, unlovable.I've been thinking a lot about names lately. My church here in Guatemala started a series called "My name is..." or "Mi Nombre es..." And will probably keep blogging about names in the weeks to come.But today, with just five minutes and just one word, Cherished, I will stick to that name.Cherished. Adored. Loved. Beloved.Can I have the audacity to take a name like that? To see myself as cherished? To be the one who cherishes me?What role does cherishing myself have in cherishing others? Can I really value others, can I really see their stories as my own, if I don't see my own story as one worth telling, as one worth cherishing?You can't have one without the other. To cherish, to value, to hold dear. It's just a word, a name. But can I claim it? Do I want it in a world that prizes self-deprecation and devaluation?Cherished. It fumbles on the tongue. Feels antiquated.But that's why I'm here. Writing on this blog. To write in my own value. To write in the dearness of my own heart. To be reminded of the One who cherishes me and to choose His names and His love.DONE.***How do you view the word cherished? Do you think you can cherish or value others without cherishing yourself? ***Want to learn more about Five Minute Friday and how to participate? All the details are here.
T.S. Tuesday: A New Verse
I recently searched for every T.S. Eliot quote or poem having to do with the New Year or new beginnings. My new search brought me to an old favorite: Ash Wednesday, and this stanza in particular:"The new years walk, restoringThrough a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoringWith a new verse the ancient rhyme. RedeemThe time. RedeemThe unread vision in the higher dream" T.S. Eliot, Ash WednesdayFor one, I like the idea of taking a new year's walk. Of meandering along a forest or a river or the ocean and allowing a bright cloud of tears wet with regrets and hopes and joys and sorrows to wash over you. This past weekend I hiked to the top of a hill that overlooks the town of Antigua in hopes of inducing my own bright and shiny new year's cloud of tears and restoration. Turns out I can't cry on demand and my sweat shone brighter than any tears. But this is beside the point.I wanted tears and emotion and a literal mountain top experience. But as I heaved and panted and stared out across the valley, the next line in Eliot's poem echoed in my head,"restoring with a new verse the ancient rhyme."A new year, a new verse. But what new verse? Of what ancient rhyme?The only ancient rhyme that matters; the call that echoes from deep to deep:
You are loved you are loved you are loved.
The new verse:You are loved in Guatemala. You are loved when your Spanish sucks. You are loved when you confuse verb tenses and gender agreement and take forever to spit out a sentence. You are loved when you mix up salsa steps. You are loved when don't Skype your mom as much as you should. You are loved when you don't have much work to do. You are loved when you procrastinate even the little amount of work you have. You are loved when you're sad. You are loved when you're lonely. You are loved when you don't understand how exactly you fit in here.You are loved.How could I forget that I need to hear it write it shout scream say it every day: