My earliest memories of school report cards include very low marks and harsh critical commentary on my penmanship. My cursive was barely legible in primary school and has gone downhill steeply in the years since. I fortunately learned to type in high school. That got me through most of college without any further requirement to write by hand.
But near the end of college, I earned two aviation licenses that required me to handwrite log entries for airplane maintenance and flight instruction. I blew the dust off my grade school block printing and managed to scrawl my own name in cursive after each entry. It was embarrassing but functional. Very few people ever read my logbook entries anyway.
These days, I type a lot of emails to people around the world. But I also find myself increasingly printing and signing personal notes to people to send in the mail. Remember the U.S. mail? They still deliver—eventually. We also have thousands of organizational communications that go out over my signature.
I never imagined that my name would be so identified with my work. I always assumed I’d work in anonymous obscurity.
But here I am with a host of things publicly attached to my name.
It’s not a famous or popular name. Some would instead say it is infamous and unpopular. It has come to be associated with the cumulative choices, both good and bad, that I’ve made in life. Some people roll their eyes when they hear my name. A few smile or laugh. Many have already forgotten, or will soon forget, my name.
Whatever my name meant in its origins, every day my decisions and indecisions give my name its current meaning. It’s a sobering accountability.
At the end of my days, my name will have no value. My eternity depends entirely upon Jesus’ name.
