Hello, Nice to Meet You
Yes Easter – as in the holiday. As in the resurrection. As in Happy…
Not April, not Esther and not Heather. (those are the most commonly mistaken wrong names). I actually had a teacher call me April all the way through the 7th grade and a boss that called me Heather for almost 2 years. Really.
So why am I saying this. Well… I talk to a lot of people on here and people always ask.. so what is your “REAL” name. I say Easter.. “Oh – that’s ok – when you are comfortable, you can tell me what your name really is”. No. It really is Easter. Really. It is not my pseudonym name. Not my nickname. Not my fake name. It is my birth certificate name – For real.
So, then the next question is always the same “OOOOOOOHHHHH what a lovely name!!! 🙂 How did you get that name?” Occasionally, I would hear “who would name their kid Easter” or “what kind of a name is Easter???”
My daddy, being the eccentric man that he most certainly was (good thing that I have NONE of those genes!), decided not to call me Mary Ellen. You see, after a very long Easter weekend suffering through watching my mom go through the various stages of giving birth. (Oh wait – I think they knocked her out actually), as he was on the way to the hospital, he had an epiphany and just HAD to call me Easter. (I was born a little after midnight on the Easter Monday). I was their Easter baby.
I HATED the name growing up. You have to remember that I grew up in the early 70s in a VERY Anglo-Canadian culture. There were Kimberleys, Cheryls, Lindas and Sherrys. Shelleys, Marys, Lisas and Terrys. No Easters. No ethnic names. No hippie names (Frank Zappa sure helped me when his daughter was born though). Teachers would say – “you mean Esther” – I would say no. I would then get a polite tight smile that barely disguised a doubting sneer.
As I grew, the name grew on me and people said that it suited me. In my teens it did as I was (as one dear friend says) effervescent.
As I grew into my adulthood, my spiritual life grew and I came to know God. Life got hard but I hung on to my faith in a big way. It is all that I had to get me through some very dark, very trying (that is an understatement, by the way) days. Life sucked, but I kept calling out to God anyhow. Like the widow before the judge, I figured that if I pleaded before Him and prayed enough, He would get tired of hearing my voice and help me. Well, the day came when He did. Life changed. HUGELY. And here I am. I am healing, pretty much whole (or at the least, a lot more comfortable with my shortfalls), happy (most of the time) at peace in an amazing way, and I am so loved by my Father in Heaven.
Now my name has its true meaning come to fruition in me. Easter. Resurrected life. New life. Blessed, abundant and free to live.
Wow! You gotta love God – but then again – He always knew it would be this way.
So thanks Mom (and Daddy, I know you are reading this too). You helped to imprint that which was part of my destiny all along.
So that, my friends, is the meaning and the story behind my name.
🙂 Bless you all lots and lots!!!