The royal wedding was today, as I’m sure the entire western world is aware. And it got me thinking about names. I find my name dull. DEBBIE. Ordinary. People born during a certain time period. Nothing exciting or unique about it.
What’s the correlation between the royal wedding and names? I’ve always been a proponent of strong [in my opinion] names. I tend to favor the traditional. Not the trendy. No cutesy spellings. Good. Solid. Biblical names are great, I believe, especially for boys. Etc. I realized, as I thought about the wedding, the women on my mom’s side of the family have royalty names. Mary (my grandma). Charlotte (my mother). Catherine (my sister and my daughter’s given name). I have a cousin on my dad’s side named Megan (different spelling than Markle’s but nonetheless).
Then there’s me. Debra, my actual name, which I do honestly prefer to Debbie. To my knowledge there are no princesses or queens sharing my name. Now or in the past.
I came across a bracelet this week. While visiting Louisville. And remembered. What my name means. Debra, or the biblical version, Deborah, means bee in Hebrew. Bee as in a buzz-buzz bee. And truth be told, I like bees. They’re known, characteristically, as workers, correct? They’re pollinators. An important role to fill. And there are queen bees, so it must be positive to be named after them…
My daughter, who herself has a princess name, reminded me that Deborah led an army. In the bible. She was a judge. Powerful. Looked upon with respect. All good things. And so I decided to be alright with my name.
I looked up the song she wrote. She being Deborah. Read it. A few times. And again, decided. I am alright with my name. The bracelet is a reminder. No, I won’t wear it everyday. But I need reminders sometimes. That I’m who I am supposed to be. That I’m not the sum of what I feel or perceive. That I am capable. That I can rise up above the negative. That I should. Sting a few people…not really but I might like to…
Life is hard. Which is a tremendous understatement. And I currently find myself exhausted in every possible way. I am in the middle of a rest. No, I’m not napping as I type… In the middle of a rest meaning an extended weekend. A time to be with my kids. A time to retreat a bit. A time to allow myself to focus on myself. And as I do so, I tell myself to not return as the same person. Return changed. Renewed. Not completely different, but a better version of the previous.
Return to where? I’m not exactly sure… I suppose to my ordinary life with my ordinary name. I have allowed weariness to creep into my being. I have let a less than me version of me into my heart and mind. My thinking became skewed. My processing took a turn towards the dark. I became what I am not. Or wasn’t before. So I look to the warrior. The judge. The person who was brave. Who wrote a song.
Wake up, wake up, Deborah!
Wake up, wake up, sing a song!
Upon a Sunny Day 