I wasn't going to use names of identifiable people in this blog, including me. But tonight “IT” happened ... and ... well ... this is how it is:

For a few years I've been giving a little talk at certain women's groups wherein I use my name as a humorous introduction and a way to lead into the meat of my message. I tell a few jokes, and relate how my name gets massacred in pronunciation, and how other kids made fun of me, and how my name is one of those “joke” names—you know, when they need a name to describe the incompetent secretary, the maid, or the crazy aunt locked in the attic.

So, I'm paying for gas with my debit card, and the clerk points at the card and says, “How do you say this name?” I say, Myrna (m-ur-na). She laughs and yells over to another guy in the store. “Hey, Bill, I just met my first Myrna!” They both laugh. Then she turns back to me and says, “They always call me Myrna when I do ditsy things.” I think she was waiting for me to laugh at that point as well.

I tell her that I've never liked my name. She shakes her head from side to side and up and down at the same time, and says, “Oh, yes, I know” with a you-totally-have-my-sympathy-for-having-to-carry-such-a-horrible-handle-your-whole-life look.

I laugh.

"She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins." Matthew 1:21