We're safe here, she said, safe here
We all must be mistaken here
With miles of barren desert between
Scorched by wrath, bereft of life
Wind whispers lies into ears unseen
Destroyer of worlds, I've become to thee
That ruse has become our reality
Somewhere in this static dream
Calls from afar to battles unseen
I hear them as a reminder of what
You once were to someone given to thee
Like rage upon an albatross, mocking
and mocking the man of straw in me
The silence frozen, cold, bereft of grace
Leads us both to conclusions we dared not face
Yet time has built instead of eroded
Mountains we think the other thinks they can erase
An errand of fools this is
An errand of fools this is
Rising from the ashes of the doom
It took two to create
Sinful beings being sinful, both ignoring
Mandates given and statutes placed
Harbor of ice, this frozen embrace
Over cold winter's wind we can not hear it;
The words and the thoughts are misplaced
Riddles of riddles both understand, contextualized
Yet war from below slips in a virus disguised
Jumbled and jostled, the lyrical refrains
Talking in circles instead of face to face
Is there fear? Is there hate? What does God say?
It may be wise to to assess in this pitiful state
Compassion atrophied, a warrior poet once spake
Makes both forget that mountains are moved
And ocean basins scraped
By one and only one, the One in Three
And perhaps what I am to you is unclear
For it is only for Him to see until time appointed
If those plans be of He. Who can know, down here?
Until it is revealed to to one, to all, to we
The daughter is the main concern; Anything else
Is left at the feet of Christ the King.
It really is an interesting question wrapped within the mundane. In deeper historic times, people had one name, and were defined by their lineage, such as "Stephen, son of Hiram" or "Rebecca, daughter of Ephram". In the western world, this eventually morphed into given (first) names and family (last) names, with various amounts of extra middle names. For the most part, the majority of the world follows a similar pattern, with a family line name and a given identifier name in a certain order. Some cultures still follow the concept of heredity, other cultures use multiple middle names for various reasons. It all still effectively boils down to the concept of, "who are you, and who are you of?"
From the very beginning, man was given the power to name. In Genesis 2:19-20, it is written:
Now out of the ground the Lord God had formed every beast of the field and every bird of the heavens and brought them to the man to see what he would call them. And whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all livestock and to the birds of the heavens and to every beast of the field.
Names are powerful things; more powerful than we realize in this day and age. They seem innocuous, but I am sure you can recall at least a couple of moments where someone lived up to the meaning of the name they were given. I have yet to research the concept of naming and its consequences, so I'll refrain from much speculation. However, Hebrews and other tribes in the ancient world would purposely name their children very specific things, and I suspect they had some wisdom in the practice that we have lost to the march of time.
The bible has many examples, though, of naming and renaming purposefully. Esau's name was derived from his red and hairy appearance, Jacob was derived from the Hebew word for "heel", as he was born holding his brother's heel. This eventually came to have more meaning as "supplanter" and "deceitful one" due to the way he acquired his birthright. In the book of Ruth, Naomi asks to be called Mara, or "bitter". Abram became Abraham. Saul became Paul. God Himself has many names. The list goes on, related to growing into one's name or adopting a new one that better fits the person.
My given name is Michael. It is an interesting name and a biblical one. I am very very bad at Hebrew, so I am likely getting the glyphs incorrect. If so, I'll gladly accept correction and provide attribution to the corrector.
מִיכָאֵל - (Mikha'el)
It comes from the Hebrew. Transliterated, it is thus:
מִ֚י | (mî) | who
כִּי־ | (kî) | that
אֵ֣ל | (’êl) | God
It seems that this is best translated and considered as a figure of speech: who is like God? Put more plainly, "Who, of us, can call ourselves equal with God?" In Latin, quis ut Deus?
I chuckle at my past foolishness as I write this. When I was calling myself an atheist in my youth, I adopted the paradoxical interpretation of Michael - "one who is like God", referencing the biblical archangel. After all, at that point I didn't believe anyway, so why not propose that I am like God? I chuckle at the foolishness and the sadness in that, as I was partially right - I had made myself the god of me - or at least, so I thought. It's a slightly more complicated story whereabout I most certainly made another sinfully lost girl my idol. God ultimately used connections through that same family to bring me to Him.
And now, after years of struggling with understanding, my eyes are beginning to see the reason I was named Michael.
Every day. Every minute. It is a reminder. "Who is like God?". The ultimate answer: no one. Not me.
God permitted me to be named Michael because He knew I needed that constant reminder. He knew I needed that reminder in my impatience. He knew I needed that reminder in my pride. He knew I needed that reminder in both my worst moments and my best. He knew I needed that reminder, period.
So, we should all have the strength enough to simply ask,
