My name is Annie. It is not Ann. It is not Amy. And it is most certainly not Andy.
It’s a simple name, really, reasonably common and easy to pronounce. I had a speech impediment until I was six (once I told the doctor I had “goose” for breakfast, when I meant to convey I had juice… my mother was horrified), but I have since overcome that obstacle, and I like to think I articulate my name with clarity. Apparently that thought is wrong.
At work, I frequently have people returning calls to “Amy,” and it takes me pulling out NATO code (“apple november…”) for the caller to get it right. But it’s the phone and I understand. What I fail to understand, however, is when I introduce myself and the introducee replies, “Nice to meet you, Andy.” I ask you – how many females do you know named Andy? Maybe one, two if you’re popular. Twice tonight at volleyball I introduced myself to new people, and both thought I was Andy. As I am confident I neither sound nor look like an Andy, I am utterly baffled by this Andy phenomenon.
Why does it matter? Here’s the thing: I believe with all of my heart and soul that at the root of every human being is the desire to be intimately known and passionately loved. I believe those desires are because God created us to long for His passionate love and intimate friendship, which He joyfully and gracefully gives us. And because our names provide the first introduction to who we are – God’s beloved creation whom He knows more intimately than we know ourselves – we want to be known by name.
I remember being a freshman at City High and feeling on top of the world when my sister’s senior friends would say, “Hey, Annie!” through the bustle of the hallway during passing. I felt unexpectedly known and befriended, and it felt wonderful. Or how about this -- are there any sweeter words than hearing, "I love you, *insert your name here!*," when you know with all confidence it is sincere? My heart beams with joy when my momma or daddy tell me they love me, because they have proven it through the actions of their selfless service as parents. There is no doubt that they know me and they love me, and hearing those words is a beautiful reminder of God's intimate and passionate love for me.
As humans, because of how we are intrinsically created and wired, we want to be known and we want to be loved, and our names are the first point of introduction to who we are. So please, don't call me Andy.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
There is no sweeter sound to a person than that of their own name. It shows that the person speaking to you has listened, paid attention, and is focused on you. I get your thoughts.
ReplyDeleteAlso, one time I was on the phone for HOURS dealing with a computer issue with, I'm assuming, someone in Mumbai who kept saying, "Yes, Annie, I understand." After about six times of being called Annie, and hitting my absolute roof of annoyance, I said, "My name is AMY."
He said, "That's what I said. Annie."
I said, "No, AMY. A-M-Y. You have called me Annie this whole time and the least you could do is get my name right."
Because I'm sure I would get his name right every time...that's why all of these guys in India tell us their name is Steve.
I love you...ANNIE!
I've known 1 Andy of the female variety, an Andrea by birth. And wasn't that raggedy andy doll supposed to be a girl? hmmm... At least people stopped adding a diminutive "-ie" to the end of my name by the time I got to college.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Amy =0) And I'm glad we have a mutual understanding here that our names are both beautiful, just not for each other!
ReplyDeleteAnd Anon, it was Raggedy Ann and Andy -- Andy was the dude.
Oh to be counted and recognized is what we all desire in this sea of faces known as the world. What a mighty God we have that would know our name, face, and every hair on our head.
ReplyDelete