when it isn't enough.

There’s a lot in the power of a name. My friend Hanna and I joke about the new, trendy names that kids are getting stuck with (Tootie? Pony? Y’all are asking for your kids to get bullied). All throughout history, names have held major significance. Naomi became Mara in the bitter season of life (Ruth 1:20). Jacob was renamed Israel after he wrestled with God (Genesis 32:28). Their culture often believed that a person’s name was prophetic, indicating their path in life. Rachel, before she died from blood loss after childbirth, attempted to name her son Ben-Oni (son of my sorrow) and Jacob renamed him Benjamin (son of the right hand). Jacob did not want his son from the wife he loved so much to be named for sorrow and despair.

Today, names often reflect the culture (Apple, Kale, Pony, Blanket…) but many people still cautiously pick their baby’s name. We all instinctively feel that naming matters. It is part of us, grafted into the fabric of our souls. Think about what happens when you hear the name of a person you love - your face lights up, and you probably think of all the things you enjoy about that person. The opposite is true for someone you aren’t fond of, particularly. Even if you don’t voice those thoughts, their name alone can make you feel frustrated or remember a situation that hurt you deeply. Our names are tied to our personhood, our character and our stories.

You may be wondering how any of this matters. It’s just a word, attached to legal documentation, assigned by a birth parent when you exploded into this world. But how many times has someone’s name come to you, immediately followed by the best or worst thing that person has ever done? We tend to name others by their actions. If someone deeply wounded you, it's a habit to say, oh, that’s _____, she and I used to be friends but she lied about me to our entire friend group. We almost never start with the positives. The negatives are so much easier to remember, aren’t they? We even do this with ourselves. We can have so much grace for every single person we have ever met, and urge them to forgive themselves for the mistakes they have made, but when it comes to ourselves there is no grace. Only cruel words tied to a name. Not only that - we keep track. The list never gets washed clean. The balance is never reconciled to zero.

We tie our names not only to our actions, but our thoughts. We deny ourselves the grace that Jesus offers us so freely, feeling undeserving of accepting it. We tie our worth to our jobs, our bank accounts, our GPAs, our ability to find a mate or any number of things. We link our name with our ability to produce, whether it be career centered output or children birthed. Suddenly, it matters very much that we completed that project perfectly, because if we didn’t - well, that’s our whole value to ourselves (and we tell ourselves, to others around us). So what am I really worth if I can’t be useful? People constantly tie this idea of production and worth back to the story Martha. I have heard her portrayed as a nagging, bothersome woman who only cared about a clean house when Jesus was sitting right there. I don’t care very much about a clean house, but I do care a lot about my job. I care a lot about doing my work to the best of my ability because I feel that doing so honors Christ. Maybe I am way off base, but I think Martha and I have a lot of similarities. When I think about Martha, rushing around to prepare a meal for her Rabbi, I can feel her stress. I can feel her anxiety creeping in, wondering if anything she does will be worthy of Jesus. Out of her desire to honor God and serve in a spirit of excellence, she let herself become overwhelmed, to the point of snapping at her sister, Mary, who sat listening to Jesus. I can see her getting more and more irritated as she served the disciples, filling cups with fresh water or wine, and taking plates to the kitchen. The more she worked while everyone else sat with Jesus, the more frustrated she became. Finally, she looked at Jesus (and I absolutely know she expected Him to side with her because she was doing the “right” things) and said, “Won’t you get my sister to help me?” Except she said it with a whole lot of attitude, because she was mad and probably sweaty. A lot of people read Jesus’s words with a bite, as if He were angry with Martha for not getting it. I just picture Jesus quietly smiling and taking her hand, while He made a place beside Him for her to sit. “Martha,” I can hear him saying, “you are worried about so many things, all at once. So few things are needed, really just one. Mary realized that, and I won’t take it away from her.” (Paraphrase of Luke 10:41-42)

See, I don’t believe that Jesus is cruel or snide or jeering. I do believe that He is fair, just and merciful. Mostly, I believe Jesus is kind. Kinder than my wildest dreams. A lot of the way we read the Bible comes down to what we believe about God. I believe in a God who gives me a new name, who calls me restored and redeemed. I believe in a God who made a place for Mary and for Martha, gently and kindly reminding her that her worth was more than what she could do for Him. I believe in a God who sees me where I am at this moment, but doesn’t define me by it. He doesn’t see the worst and dirtiest things I have done, because through Him alone, my slate has been washed clean. My worth and my security and my very name come from Him, and from Him alone.

Redeemed. Secure. Made whole. Sufficient and enough only through the sacrifice of a kind, and generous Savior.

Walk away from the sweet musings of pride camouflaged as self sufficiency and good works. You cannot out work or out perform God. He is calling you to sit with Him even now, and remember who He says that you are. He is the true safe place, the only rock on which you can stand. Rest in the knowledge that it is not all on you to resolve or produce.

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Nicole Worm is the founder of Redeemed Collective, a recovering perfectionist and is committed to eventually seeing the Atlanta Falcons win a Super Bowl. Also, committed to being dog mom to Bear.