You Don't Even Know Who I Am or You Never Even Called Me By My Name

Don’t you just hate it when a song you don’t particularly care for runs incessantly through your mind?  Me too!  Case in point:  as I was pondering this verse and what I was hoping to glean from it--thinking along the lines of mistaken identity and such--the chorus to Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band’s “Fortunate Son” traipsed through my head.  Sing it with me and let’s hope that the connotation will go from being a wrongly accused senator’s son, millionaire’s son, and military son to being a rightly acknowledged child of God.

It ain't me, it ain't me
I ain't no fortunate son, no
It ain't me, it ain't me.

Have you ever been mistaken for somebody else?  It happens to me.  A lot!  Thankfully, for most of those times, it’s someone who is loved, liked, or at least well-thought of.  Sometimes this dear woman at church for no reason other than her own goosiness calls me “Phyllis” and we laugh about it because there is just no rhyme nor reason to it.  But there have been those times when I was called by another’s name that I just did not appreciate the label.

“Mary, do you know the answer to why the right angle in this problem is not 90 degrees?”  

“Kassie, can you tell the class why Mr. Darcy is so proud and afraid of his feelings for Ms. Bennett?”  

As a former school teacher myself, I know how hard it is to remember all the student’s names so in hindsight I will cut these former educators some slack (ahem Ms. Campbell, Mr. Buckner, and Ms. Higgins) now but back then, it really did not make my day. My only satisfaction come from the fact that my younger brother would now have one more name to add to his list of people he was called as his turn at Mountain Heritage was soon to come!

Other cases of being confused for another involved things that could go for me in the positive--such as being given credit for a task that I had honestly had little if any part in.  Or they could continue negatively, as was more often the case, when I was blamed for something I did not do but because of my proximity to the instance was readily accused.  Guilt by association?  Perhaps.  Often, it’s just easier to hit the target closest to one instead of taking the time to investigate what really happened.

In the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, two sisters were identified:  Martha and Mary.  I hadn’t really considered it much until today, but as one reads this story in John 11, verse 2 stands out for giving further future detail to Mary.  She was the one who would later perfume Jesus’ feet with her costly ointment as she washed those tender and tired tootsies with her very own hair.  Foreshadowing certainly lends excitement to this passage, don’t you think?

Anyway, what difference does this make to me, to you, and in the whole grand scheme of things?  I’ll tell you!  Yesterday my pastor taught on John 7:3-9.  Well, he meant to but for some reason didn’t quite make it all the way to the end of these verses but…What caught my attention was verse 5: “For neither did His brethren believe in Him.”

Ouch!  Those old prickles started poking me, jabbing at me with full force, as I tried to not squirm at the pain they were causing me.  So many times in my life I have been the victim of unbelief.  Sure, there were the times of being confused for another and no matter what I said, I couldn’t convince that soul that I was not Betty Jean who lived down the road back in 1987 in such and such town.  And the times mentioned above when I was called by one of my sister’s name.  And those times when I was falsely under suspicion for something that had not gone right--again, through no fault of my own.  But what was pricking me the most was that no matter how I try to shake off the shame of who I was, my following (if you will) today does not believe in me.  

Why?  Why is it so hard to get supporters who will jump to my defense instantly--even before hearing the facts?  Where is that sense of loyalty to me that I see in so many memes that talk about the friend who is beside the other in the jail cell because she took up for her, in spite of who was wrong or right:  it just was the thing to do?

Where are those to champion me in my endeavours regardless of how silly they might be or because this is the 6,873,492 new venture I have set out on?  Why can’t I be a Mary (and no, not my real sister Mary but the Mary Magdalene here in this verse)?  Why can my fame not be spread abroad in a positive way that makes others want to know me more, to be my number one fan, friend, and proponent--instead of constantly opposing me because they think I am not worth their time?  Why does even my own family (spare my ever-faithful husband) shun endorsing me when I have fought so valiantly to become the woman I am today?  Can they not see who I am or...or are they just too uncaring to see my success and would rather dwell on my past failings?  Does this somehow make theirs seem not so bad?

Sigh.

In conclusion, I didn’t want this to be a Stef-pity blog so let me try to end it on an encouraging note.  As I pondered on Pastor Dale’s message from yesterday and had my little pity party for one, my good Stef (she really does exist!) played devil’s advocate and began to wonder whom she has not been supporting, whom she has not been loyal to, and whom she needs to pay more attention to.  There are so many needy people right in front of me!  

Lord, open my eyes to see them!  Open my ears to hear their silent cries for attention!  Melt my heart to the pains they are feeling.  And Lord, as the pastor concluded yesterday, don’t let me--like Jesus (oh the audacity of me to compare myself to Him but I must in order to reach that level of perfection)--be taunted by the word “if.”  

“IF I am who I say I am, then prove it to those more favorable ones who can notice my works and declare my fame.”  

Un unh, Lord God.  IF I am who I say I am, then let my words speak for themselves.  Let my actions of today prove true.  Let those whom I may minister to via this blog and in my personal life--though they may be few in number--may they see You in me, the hope of glory, the assurance that You give for mending broken vessels and giving them the opportunity to allow light to still shine through them.  

And mostly Father?  May my name be one that is uttered with reverence as Mary’s was when it was associated with Yours.  Not so that I may be glorified, God but that You will be as the world realizes I do these things not for show but so that I may grow closer to You and share Your mercies and grace.  That is indeed my prayer and while it might seem audacious to some, I intend to be bold in my faith, Father.  I am Your daughter and it’s past time that I claimed that title!  In the name of Jesus Christ I pray these things: amen!