I once went to a website a friend had just finished. It landed on a fairly boring homepage, but I eagerly clicked on one of the links. As the page opened, I was met with a white background sporting an animated character in a hard hat with a shovel. “Under Construction” was all that appeared on the page. That was disappointing. Why would you want me to check out a site missing several key components?
I’ve thought about that more than once as I built this site. There were several occasions when I wanted to announce my site’s completion. Especially since I built a decent-looking homepage in one two-hour tutorial. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, and I did let a couple of people take a look. I returned the following day with the intent of building a blog page. I followed the next tutorial. Although it worked well, it didn’t work correctly. I deleted my site and started over moving on to the next tutorial. This time I discovered my problem. I used a template. Templates can be great, but they put me in a mold that didn’t work well for me. I ended up deleting my site again. Truth be known, I deleted my site six times before it looked and worked the way I wanted it to, and I spent a month working on it. I am currently typing this hoping all my blog pages are linking correctly. Learning curves – ugh.
I guess I understand my friend’s excitement about sharing his progress, but he wasn’t finished. I took his website design lesson and decided to wait until all the “Under Construction” signs came down. In fact, I still haven’t announced this site’s completion. If this post works correctly, I’ll consider my success and tell the world! Or at least my Facebook friends.
I’ve been pondering my life that’s “Under Construction”…50+ years and counting. Those thoughts brought me back to my fourth-grade English assignment. Homework that evening was to find out what your name meant. This was long before personal computers and the Internet. I was a stressed-out nine-year-old fretting over how I could possibly find out such deep mysteries. Mom, the voice of reason, looked up from the newspaper and said, “Debbie. Why don’t you look it up in the dictionary?” I was stunned. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. Why would my name be in the dictionary? With no other options on the table, I relented.
Much to my surprise, Deborah was there. The definition was: “A judge and prophetess (a what?) of Israel.” My homework assignment was complete! Even if I had no clue what that meant. My teacher was surprised by that as well, and my life went on, but I never forgot it.
Fast forward a little to my senior year of high school. I had a teacher who immigrated from Haifa, Israel. He was Arabic.
He looked at my name and said, “Dee-Bore-a…are you Jewish? You’re not Jewish?”
I’m not, and I had no idea why he would think that.
“I thought you were Debra?”
“I am,” I replied.
“No, you are Dee-bore-a.”
It was weird enough that I went home that evening and opened the same old dictionary I had used eight years prior. I found out that Deborah was a biblical character, so I looked her up and found out the following:
“Now Deborah, a prophet, the wife of Lappidoth, was leading Israel at that time. She held court under the Palm of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went up to her to have their disputes decided.” (Judges 4: 4-5 NIV).
The plot thickened, but I never knew why. I mostly liked the idea of Deborah holding court under her personal palm tree. Everyone knew where to find her, and she had the final say.
Years later, I discovered that the name Deborah actually means “bee.” Often it is referred to as industrious. Bees make honey, so I figured I am the type of person who works to make life sweet. My husband, however, seemed to pick up on the fact that bees sting. I’m sure he wasn’t speaking of me!
Deborah’s Palm has stuck with me ever since then. Sometimes I get it, and sometimes I don’t. Right around the time Covid showed up in the U.S., I felt that I was supposed to blog. It’s not something I ever wanted to do, but I read a blog on “how to blog.” It had a checklist of things that I skimmed over. One of the items that stopped me was, “What will you name your blog?” I hesitated for all of five seconds and said, “Life Under Deborah’s Palm.” I spun the mouse scroller about a quarter turn. I looked down to see the comment section where a woman had written something. Her name? “Deb Palmer.” No lie. Tell me God doesn’t speak.
So what’s in a name? Identity. Names are chosen or at least narrowed down before birth. It is the beginning of identity from an earthly perspective. You may read this and think, but I was unwanted, or I don’t know who my dad is, or I don’t know my birth parents who named me, so I don’t really know who I am.
Pay no attention to those thoughts! There is a God in Heaven who knows exactly who you are, where you are, and why you are – even if you are currently a hot mess. I encourage you, no matter where you are in life right now – start with simplicity and find out what your name means. Don’t stress if you have a name like Mary, which means bitter or rebellious. You will find out that people with those traits will be drawn to you looking for help. I can personally attest to that as my mom’s name is Mary, and those people have always been drawn to her. Maybe you have a name that you can’t find the meaning of. Perhaps Mom and Dad combined some names or sounds together that they liked. Again, don’t stress; you were identified by your parents as unique.
Grab that old dictionary! Or maybe just a quick Google search is all you need. Technology has come a long way since my fourth-grade homework assignment. And no matter what you find out, always remember what King David said as his word to God speaks to all of us:
Psalm 139: 13-14
“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.”
Let’s begin the journey to find our true identity in life.
