I've been employed at Talitha Koum for about 5 months now, associated with it for nearly twice as long, and there's still some of the little kiddos who misprounce my name. I've been called Darin, Jerrod, Jarin, Greg, Andrew (don't know where that one came from), and more commonly, Eric. In fact, two little girls who insist on calling me Eric day in and day out are two girls who actually go to church with me!

At times, being called Eric or Greg bothers me. Belittles me. Makes me feel unimportant. Unknown. I mean, for crying outloud, I'm the only male teacher they come in contact with--can't they at least know my name?!?! I've tried sitting them in my lap and spelling it out for them. I've tried pronouncing it in sloooow motion. I've completely ignored them until another child corrects them. I've tattooed my name on each child's forehead with a crayola marker to help them remember it. Ok, well, maybe I haven't gone that far. Yet.

The dilemma reminds me of what Frederick Buechner (pronounced "Beeknur") says about his own name:

If somebody misprounces it in some foolish way, I have the feeling that what's foolish is me. If somebody forgets it, I have the feeling that it's I who am forgotten. There's something about it that embarasses me in just the same way that there's something about me that embarasses me. I can't imagine myself with any other name. If my name were different, I would be different. When I tell you my name, I have given you a hold over me that you didn't have before. If you call it out, I stop, look, and listen whether I want to or not.

Maybe I shouldn't be in such a rush for this acknowledgement and recognition among 3 and 4 year olds. For Buechner adds:

In the Book of Exodus, God tells Moses that his name is Yahweh, and God hasn't had a peaceful moment since.

Heres' to savoring these last remaining "peaceful moments".