Retrospection and other matters concerning "Hannah Grace"
"God placed within your tiny spirit the seed that contains the pattern for all you will be in this life. I pray that He will grant to me the grace and knowledge to properly water and nurture that seed, carefully cultivating it and plucking the weeds so that you can grow into all He designed for you to be." ~MomIf you were ever a little child (and I'm assuming all of you were at least once), you knew that if your Mom used your first and middle name to call you it was usually not a good sign. Mostly because there was certain tone in her voice. A tone that made your heart knock against your ribs. A tone that made you stop dead in your tracks and wonder, "How in the world did she find out?" It was the tone of impending doom. The tone that awakened your conscience and caused you to replay all the things you could have possibly done that to require the use of both names.
On the flip side, using both names could have been a term of endearment. Especially if you were Southern born-and-raised. We Southern kids are used to the two-first-names dynamic of our culture. You're not just Hannah to your family. You are Hannah Grace. And it's not just the names that moms use to get onto their kids (though it happens), it's what you call someone you love when you haven't seen them in a while. It's the name that comes after "Dear" on all birthday cards from ages 1 to 100. It's the names you call down the hallway when it's time to go (not in an impatient way, of course). It's a family affair. Something dear. And precious.
And so I grew up as Hannah Grace. (Though there was a short time in my life I thought my actual middle was "Bear," but that's beside the point), and it was "Hannah Grace" who was the recipient of dozens of letters that my mom wrote from the time I was a baby until age four.
"To my precious Hannah Grace~"
I had no idea my mom had written me letters until a couple of days a go. And reading them has sent me on a thoughtful (and teary-eyed) journey of introspection. It's overwhelming to read my mom's thoughts and reflections about me after I was born. And I think I've taken for granted the blessing it is to have Godly parents. Parents who sacrificed so much for me. Who waited for me. Who speak blessings over me. My life has always been filled with the Holy Spirit since I was a little girl, and so much of that is due their unwavering obedience to our Father. I have always known Jesus. I've always been safe. I've never known a time in my life where God's presence was not with me. God has been so kind to me... It's overwhelming...
Besides learning a few interesting things about my young self, such as my eagerness to learn Portuguese at age four, my impulsive need to dance whenever music was playing, my passion for singing songs about Jesus, picking flowers, painting, visiting the zoo, and playing with cats (some things never change) my mom also shared with me a lot about how my personality was when I was growing up. It's surprising to see how similar I was to who I am now. She often describes me as independent and strong-willed as well as extremely compassionate and sensitive. When I was three, she wrote me:
"The other night your daddy was sick. I have never seen a child respond with such gentleness and compassion... you stayed by your dad and "patted" him gently on the arm or leg. You "tucked" him in bed and even brought him a little stuffed friend to make him feel better. I could see the compassion in your sweet expression as you said, 'Poor Dad' and 'I hope you feel better.' It nearly brought tears to my eyes."
Reading this kindled in me sweet compassion. It's seems like it's in my very nature to care (Of course this is coming from the someone who, at age three, felt "sad" when she saw trees cut up into lumber). It makes me think of what a precious gift I've been given. The gift of Grace. We all reflect a part of God. And I am honored that He chose me to reflect the grace He gives to His people. My testimony is a story of the undeserving grace God gives to His children. We didn't earn it. We didn't even ask. But we are His children. And just like my mom who fell in love with her newly born daughter, dreaming for her, protecting her, putting her above everything else.. so does God do for us. That is also overwhelming.
Sometimes I think I still live as the Hannah Grace who automatically assumes when her name is called she's in trouble and feels ashamed. The one who carries guilt and frustration. The one who assumes the only reason she would be called by her full name is because she's done something wrong. And that disappointment is going to inevitably follow. But now see I things a little differently. No matter the tone used, the name still carries the same significance: Hannah Grace, you are my family. My precious little one. And that is how I want to live my life. As Hannah Grace, the one who carries the grace of God.
