I once lived in a country rich in cultural rules and ancient traditions. One I remembered: give your children ugly nicknames so that the spirits will not snatch them away. Seemed logical.

As a Christian I adapted this idea somewhat–live in a broke-down house, even live a broke-down life, but treasure the eternal.

So I did. My house was a mess. My hair was a mess. My children were bright orbs of light. I thought I had it mapped out.

But I had not calculated the cost of broke-down minds in our broke-down life. Everything like shattered glass in their heads.

I am shocked by the damage. I survey the damage. No easy answers, only the beacon of truth–our lives themselves are the houses, mansions, temples, of the eternal God of love.

Who will give us our real
Names
Someday.