Dear Lord, a few days ago, someone mispronounced my name for the fifth time in a row during a company zoom meeting. And even though it was innocent, I felt something rise up in me—a strange mixture of frustration, sadness, and invisibility.
Why does something as “small” as a name carry so much weight? Why does being seen—truly seen—matter so much to us?
And then I thought of you God.
I thought of how You, the King of Kings, Creator of the Universe, called me by name. You don’t stumble over it. You never forget it. You don’t get it wrong. You don’t ask, “Hey…what’s your name again?” No. You speak it with clarity, affection, and purpose. You say it with authority. You whisper it in the dark. And You shout it in the spirit when I forget who I am.
God, You said, “I have summoned you by name; you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1) That verse has been echoing in my chest all day like a heartbeat. You are mine. Those three words undo me.
I’ve had moments when I questioned my value—not because I didn’t believe in You, but because I couldn’t see how someone as holy and big and omniscient as You could have space for someone like me. I’m not famous. I’m not particularly loud. I’m not everyone’s first choice. But somehow, You knew my name long before anyone else ever called it out.
When Moses stood before that burning bush in Exodus 3, You didn’t start with a long explanation or a heavenly trumpet blast. You said: “Moses, Moses.” You spoke his name twice. Twice! That wasn’t random. That was intimacy. That was relationship. That was recognition.
And when Samuel was a young boy, uncertain, probably wrestling with the brokenness of the leaders around him—Eli’s sons were a whole mess—you still met him. You didn’t wait for him to have it all together. You called his name, again and again. “Samuel… Samuel.” Even when he didn’t know it was You at first.
God, You are patient.
You waited for Samuel to hear You correctly.
You called him by name in a season of confusion.
And You’re doing the same with me.
When I feel lost in a crowd or buried beneath comparison, You call my name.
When I’ve failed, like Peter did… when I’ve betrayed my own convictions or let fear silence me… You call me again. Just like that angel said: “Go tell the disciples—and Peter.” (Mark 16:7) That verse always makes me cry. You made sure Peter knew You hadn’t forgotten him. You still called him by name even after the denial. You reinstated him when he probably thought he was disqualified.
So many people forget or distort names. I’ve been called everything from “Janelle” to “Janessa” to “Just—you.” But You, Jesus? You call me daughter. You call me beloved. You call me by the name You wrote in Your book before the foundations of the world.
“Before I was born the Lord called me; from my birth He has made mention of my name.” (Isaiah 49:1)
That’s not poetic fluff. That’s truth. It means my identity isn’t just a mix of syllables my parents liked. It’s not just a legal signature. It’s a divine utterance. My name is known in heaven. Engraved, not penciled in. Not forgotten. Not a placeholder.
So tonight, in the stillness of my room and the rawness of my thoughts, I choose to believe this deeper:
You know me, God.
Not just the “public” me. Not just the praying me. Not just the writing, smiling, leading me.
You know the quiet, insecure, questioning me.
And still… You call me by name.
Father, help me to remember this when I feel invisible. When the world wants to rename me with its own labels—“Not Enough,” “Too Much,” “Second Choice,” “Too Broken”—remind me of Your voice.
Remind me that You, the Lord of all, not only know my name… You speak it with love.
Jesus,
Thank You for calling me by name. Thank You that I don’t have to shout to get Your attention. I don’t have to be famous to be known by You. I don’t have to get everything right for You to remember me. You knew me before the womb. You formed me with purpose. You named me with intention.
I surrender every false identity tonight. Every name that life has tried to pin on me—failure, disappointment, mistake, forgotten—I lay them at Your feet. Let the only name I answer to be the one You’ve given me.
Call me again, Lord. Loud if You must. Whisper if You will. But don’t stop calling me. Because there’s nothing more beautiful than being known by You.
Amen.
FINAL THOUGHTS….
I think part of maturing in faith is learning that being known by God is better than being known by people. Yes, it feels good to be seen, heard, and remembered by others. But human memory fails. Intention falters. But God’s knowledge of me? It’s eternal. Secure. Intimate.
I’m not just a name on a list. I’m not a username. I’m not a forgotten prayer request.
I’m known. By name. By grace.
The Christian Tech-Nerd 