Names

"What's in a name?", Shakespeare asks, in Romeo and Juliet, as well he might within the context of that play. God, it seems, as one reads through the Bible, would answer "Everything". He places tremendous stock in names: He instructs parents what to name their children; He re-names some; He Himself carries many names - each reflecting an aspect of Himself, and of course He identifies Himself by the name "I am".
Names have meanings, connotations. They are an almost sacred part of our humanity. It is seen as one of the ultimate signs of abandonment, of cruelty, for a child to remain unnamed by its parent(s) - a sure sign of rejection.
In the Bible, when God met with someone - in those meetings that would alter the courses of lives - He often re-named the person with whom He met. It was one of the covenantal symbols (one which we still carry into marriage today for the most part). A change in name symbolised a change in identity, and thus a change in direction.
In 2008, when God and I reconnected in a more meaningful and deep way, God gave me a new name: "Mama". I was pretty unimpressed. I was going through (yet another) identity crisis at the time - questioning the significance, and global usefulness, of my seemingly hidden stay-at-home-mom life. The name therefore was pretty much exactly what I didn't want to hear.
And yet deep down I had to acknowledge it. It felt true.
My friends will describe me as an "earth mother". I'm not quite sure what they mean by that, but I do know that I "get" kids. I know how to talk to them, to get down with them. They invariably trust me, like me, and at the same time respect me. I don't know how I do it - it just happens.
And yet it's an aspect of me that I continually avoid. Somewhere inside me there's this great fear that surrounds the idea of spending a lot of time with kids. I suspect I fear exhaustion more than anything. Being with them can energise me so much when all goes well, but there are times when it does the opposite - drains me.
Or does it? I'm beginning to wonder if it's having kids around me, but not being engaged with them that's draining.
This is something I'm noticing with my own kids: when I'm trying to find my own space, do my own thing, having them milling around can be completely exhausting. I dread having crowds of them buzzing around the house, especially if I'm rattling around with not much purpose. But put me in the mix, let me be actively part of what they are doing, engaging with them, and it goes the other way - I come alive, and feel alive for hours afterwards.
What I don't understand is why I find it so hard to step into that engagement. Today I got down all afternoon with my kids. We played Twister together, cooked supper as a team while dancing in the kitchen to music selected by each member in turn, played a quiz game during supper, and then cosied up on the sofa to read together and then watch TV. It was magic. It was like the family life I dreamt of even before I had kids.
So why don't I do it more often? It's not that hard. It certainly wasn't today.
Maybe the bipolar has something to do with it. For so long I have been unwittingly protecting myself from anything that might lead to exhaustion, for fear of the consequences. Ironically though, avoiding the kids, instead of engaging with them, is actually more draining.
I know that the name "Mama" has wider implications than merely within my own family. I know I have a Mama role to play within the wider family of God, and I think I possibly (maybe even probably) may fulfil the role with other people's kids in school settings. These are stories yet to be lived.
I do know that God confirmed this name to me again when He told me to say "Yes to Kids" in August 2010 (sparked, incidentally, by an aching sense of longing when watching scenes of kids in a classroom setting in Rob Bell's "Shells" Nooma).
And I know that the first kids I need to say "Yes" to are my own.