I’ve often pondered the significance of a name. We carry our names with us from birth, a marker of our identity. My name is George—yes, I said George, like George Washington, George Clooney, and other famous Georges before me. My first name is George, and my middle name is Ann, which I carry with pride as a testament to the generations that came before me on my paternal side. George was more than just a name; it was a legacy.
George was my dad’s name, just as it had been for my grandfather and great-grandfathers. It stretched back through time, a thread connecting me to my ancestors for several generations as far back as I can trace on my paternal side of the family; there was always a George. At first, I hated my name because I got sick of the teasing I endured as a girl named George. “Georgie,” my nickname, didn’t help, and I heard my fair share of “Georgy Porgy pudding and pie, kissed the boys and made them cry” taunts. But amidst the teasing, I found a source of pride. I was named after my father, and I was unabashedly a Daddy’s Girl.
My parents had already brought three girls into the world and had resigned themselves to the idea that their quest for a boy was futile. And then, I came along—the “later in life surprise baby.” They were convinced I’d be a boy and continue the George tradition. Surprise indeed—it’s a girl! So, thankfully, instead of being named George Edward as my parents planned, they changed it to a George Ann.
My first-grade teacher, Mrs. Fleming, took it upon herself to help me embrace my unique name. “Let’s write your name and middle name as one name, GeorgeAnn,” she suggested. With no space between, people would probably know they were addressing a girl. From that day forward, GeorgeAnn it was, and I’ll forever be grateful to Mrs. Fleming.
Now, I have to admit, sometimes I daydreamed about changing my name to Diana Lynn or Elizabeth Ann, keeping the Southern tradition of double names. But deep down, I felt close to my daddy and liked the legacy of being called George. It made me feel special, and it sure wasn’t a common name. Actually, it was sort of an advantage in my teenage years. It was a great ice breaker when boys asked me what my name was, and I would say George. They usually just laughed and thought I was being funny or a smart-aleck! Then, a song and a movie titled “Georgie Girl” came out in the sixties, so I felt validated. I still relished the fact that my name was a rarity, with only one other person named Georgianna in the entire school, two years my junior.
As I grew older, I encountered a few more GeorgeAnns, and our shared name created an instant bond. We were like a secret club, or a rare breed. Sadly, I didn’t name either of my children George, so I felt my father’s passing at the young age of fifty-five marked the end of an era. I missed him dearly, but I took comfort in the fact that he lived to meet my firstborn, even if it was only for a short time. He would have adored the grandsons and the great-grandchildren my mother, who lived another thirty-five years after his passing, had the privilege of enjoying.
Then, one day, my daughter surprised me. She had her last name changed to George! She understood the pride I felt in our name and wanted to carry on the tradition. The legacy of George lives on, and I couldn’t be happier.
By the way, did you know that George means “farmer”, and Ann means “grace”? So, I am a farmer with grace—a combination I’ve come to embrace, even though I may not be much of a farmer. Come to think of it, I may not be very graceful either, but that’s another story.
My husband’s middle name is Junior, and he really doesn’t like it! I always thought he hated my name too because he rarely says it when addressing me. He’s called me Honey for most of our marriage (and occasionally a few other names if he was mad at me). My husband and I were very careful to pick just the right names for our children. We wanted to be sure their names wouldn’t get them beat up or teased in school. The Good Book itself speaks of the significance of names. In the holy scriptures, names carry weight and meaning. In Genesis, Adam was given the task of naming all the animals.
It says in Genesis 2:19-20: “Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground all the wild animals and all the birds in the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would name them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. So the man gave names to all the livestock, the birds in the sky and all the wild animals.”
So, do you like your name? God does, and not only does he know and like your name, he loves you. God will give you a brand-new name, a brand-new life, a brand-new body, and a heavenly mansion where you can live for eternity if you believe and confess that God sent his only son, Jesus, to die on a cross for our sins, and was resurrected to life again.
Romans 10:9 says “that if you confess with your mouth the Lord Jesus and believe in your heart that God has raised Him from the dead, you will be saved.”
Your name is a piece of your story, a slice of your identity, and a touch of your legacy. When God calls you by your name, He’s saying, “You matter, you’re known, and you’re loved.” That’s God’s love whispering a reminder of His grace upon you, His beloved children. Isn’t that marvelous?