Love Knows Your Name

I love nicknames.
In college I lived with a roomie whose name was also Jenna.
So our friends gave us a lot of nicknames to set us apart.
I became a variety of names: J, JLu, Jen, Beautiful, Her Majesty …
(Okay, maybe not all of those were my nicknames. I'll let you guess which ones were not:)

But I also love nicknames because, in my opinion, they show affection.
They tend to show that the relationship is more than just professional.
When I use a nickname, that means I really know her or him.
And usually love her or him.

My dad still calls me "Jenna Wenna." It's a special nickname he calls me.
And for whatever reason it makes me feel loved.

Maybe that's because when people say our names, whether it be "nicked" or not, that means we are, to some extent known by them.
And we all want to feel known, right?
Why do think our culture is so obsessed with fame, social media, even blogs:)?
To be known.
And we don't just want to be known in a shallow way.
But in a relational way, in a loving way.
Because when we are known in a deep and loving way, it changes us.

It changed my girl Mary.
Ever met Mary? A lot of people call her Mary Magdalene.
But properly, she is Mary from Magdala.
Magdala is a village on the Sea of Galilee, a village Jesus would have visited, a village where He probably met Mary.

First thing we read about her?
Well, Luke 8 tells us that Jesus had cured her of seven demons.
In typical boy fashion, Luke keeps it short. Seven words to describe seven demons.
"from. whom. seven. demons. had. gone. out." 
Real cool Luke. 
Give us girls some details! 


But all we know is that before, Mary was living in darkness and despair. 
And now she is different.
Now she is following Jesus, even helping Jesus. 
Something about Jesus compelled her to follow Him, even minister TO Him. 

So what in heaven's name happened? 
Well, I believe love happened. 
What happened to transform Mary? 

It was a love that not only had the power to cure her but the power to transform her. 
And even more than that, it was a love that was personal, relational.
A love that made her feel known. 
A love that knew her name.
How do we know this? By looking at the end of her story.

Mary sees Jesus die a brutal death on a cross. 
After he was buried, she went to visit His grave.
But when she arrived at the grave, something was very wrong. 
The tomb where Jesus was buried was empty. 
So she began to cry, thinking someone had stolen His body.
As she cried, she heard a voice. 

Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?”Supposing Him to be the gardener, she said to Him, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” Jesus said to her,“Mary!” She turned and said to Him in Hebrew, “Rabboni!” (which means, Teacher).

When did she finally recognize the voice of Jesus?
Did you catch it? If not, look again.
She recognized Him when she heard her name. 
"Mary."

What does that say about Jesus? What does that say about the relationship she had with Him? 

You know, looking back …
In high school when I did anything so that the "cool girls" would know my name,
Or when I would load on the makeup so that the cute guy would know my name…

Or looking at today …
When someone I admire actually knows my name,
And as silly as this sounds, when a someone tweets or Facebooks my name…

It all roots back to this deeper desire I have to be known.

So when I think about the truth that Jesus knows my name...
I mean, the Creator of Pluto knows my name!
The moulder of the mountains to know my name!
The essence of love knows my name!
It changes me, just like it changed Mary. It takes me from darkness to light. From empty to filled. 

You have a God who knows your name.
Love knows your name.
"He calls His own sheep by name …" 

And if this truth hasn't changed you, then maybe, starting today, you can get to know Him in return.



P.S. If you don't know what all this "knowing Jesus" stuff is all about, but you are interested … contact me here. 

The Day My Husband Wrote Me a Speeding Ticket

Tomorrow Brett and I celebrate five years of marriage.

This number five is a little extra special to me.

You see, it took my husband Brett five years…

Five years of chasing before this noncommittal girl took off her running shoes.

Five years of consistency before this snowflake of a girl decided to land on the ground.

Five years of chipping before this dense girl finally cracked.

Five years before this happened:

If anyone needs a picture of pursuit, look no further than my husband.

He wrote me notes, sent me flowers, honored my parents, forgave my faults, respected my space, prayed, waited and even got to a point where he let me go.

But not before he attempted quite a few crafty methods to win me over.

My favorite attempt of all?

The day he pulled me over and gave me a “speeding ticket."

I was home from college on Thanksgiving break. Brett and I had spent a couple of days together. 

I found myself falling for him, but my pragmatic self wouldn’t allow it. 

I’m too young! I have a career to pursue! I have goals! I don’t have time for a relationship! I want to “play the field.” (FYI, if there were a “field,” I never played in it.)

So, the last night we were together, I drove away from his house in tears after telling him, “I can’t do this!” Drama. Mama.

Did that scare him away? Oh no. Quite the opposite.

He concocted a plan with my sister, Andrea.

The next day, she and I were in the car on our way back to college when I saw this unmarked vehicle with a flashing red light on top (like the kind you see on a mall cop car) begin to tail me. There was NO way I was going to pull over. It all looked a little shady to me. But my sister, in on the plan, urged me. “Jenna, you don’t want to try to outrun a cop! Pull over!”

So I did.

A tall man with wild grey hair, a retro cop hat and tight, high-water cop pants stepped out of the vehicle and approached my window. It wasn’t until I looked into his face that I saw it was him.

"Brett!" I screamed. "What are you doing?"

He was wearing a wig and a cop costume that could comfortably fit a 13-year-old boy.

He pretended to sign a “speeding ticket” and handed it to me. 

He said that I was speeding and that he didn’t like the way things ended between us.

Then, he handed me the “ticket.”

It was a note. Not a love note. Because he knew that would scare me away. Just one that said he valued our friendship. After that, he walked away. 

You and I were made to be pursued like this.

Okay, not in the fake cop outfit kind of way.

I mean through sunsets, through a child’s laughter, through a mouth-melting apple pie.

Daily, God pursues you. 

Daily, He pursues me.

Yet so often I refuse to pull over. I just keep driving. Missing out on His message of love.

Today, on my five-year anniversary I am thankful for a man that reflects God’s loving pursuit.

And I am thankful for a God that relentlessly chases after me. And after you.

What if today we pulled over? What if today we stopped for a moment, amidst our busy lives and just received His love? Want to?

“Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6, NLT).