What’s in a Name?

There are times when we are called by different names. I’m not referring to name-calling, but nicknames and titles. When our receptionist would get a phone call for me and the caller would ask for me as “Ricky,” she would tell me that one of my cousins or aunts must be on the line. She knew that they were the only ones who used that particular nickname. Titles, however, are a bit different. We all have them. I’ve had a few as well. Mister, Airman, Sarge, Boss, and even the occasional Sir. Plus, a few more that are business and community related. Some are earned, others not.

When baby boomers of our generation were growing up, it was unimaginable for any kid to address an adult by their first name. No neighborhood parent would have tolerated anything other than Mr. or Mrs. It didn’t have to be insisted upon, as we all recognized our place. I know the culture has changed and is more casual now, but a lack of social graces has led to a lack of respect.

The title that comes from being a parent is, naturally, the one we all cherish the most. If you’ve had that experience, you know that there’s something about being called Mom or Dad that reaches deeply into your heart as nothing else can. Those names convey love, respect, and deeply held emotions.

When our first grandson, Ben, was beginning to talk, I tried desperately to get him to say “Grandpa.” Then, while on my lap one day in our family room, I kept reciting “Grandpa,” and Ben insisted on saying “Popper.” To this, I replied, “No, Ben. Say Grandpa.” We went back and forth with that repetition for what seemed like weeks. Eventually, I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be Popper to Ben. At least he was calling me something unique. As time went on, our whole family thought it was endearing, especially me, so we let it stand. We have been blessed since then with four granddaughters and another grandson. They all call me Popper, and I have really grown to love the name. Well, the newest grandson is Sammy, and he was only beginning to talk when I wrote this. He had taken to pronouncing Popper as “Pop-air.” It has a kind of French flair. Cute. Nothing against the French, but with a little encouragement from the family, he soon began calling me Popper. Maybe I’m a little finicky now, but I have grown to enjoy the moniker given to me by those who have been born into our little family. They have etched it on my heart.

The Apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Romans, Chapter 8, verse 15, “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’” If you have been born into the family of God through the new birth, He is your Father. Abba is Aramaic for Father but more a term of endearment, like one might say “Daddy.” You have been adopted into his household through nothing you did to earn it. It’s by grace alone that God says, “Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of My hands” (Isaiah 49:16).