He Calls My Name

A month or so ago, a friend asked me if I'd ever heard the Lord call me by name. At the time, I told him no. The next day I asked another friend who'd been present for the first conversation if it was odd that my gut reaction to his question had been "He doesn't call me Lisa." She commented that, no, it wasn't particularly strange.

He doesn't call me Lisa. Well, I suppose sometimes he does. But it's not the name he generally uses. There's another name. One that has been hard for me to come to terms with, but one that increasingly speaks many deep and lovely things to me.

And tonight, when I finally went to Him, after a day of wrestling, and avoiding, and wanting to get it all together before I came to Him, it was that name that he used. That name that He used to draw me into a space of making some choices to think differently. That name that He used to remind me that I am deeply loved. That name that He used to remind me of the incalculable grace offered to me.

He calls me by name. And I am His.

Such a precious truth.