I remember the day when I found my name in the bible. I was 13 or 14 years old. I read Isaiah 51:3 and told my brother, “This is the purpose of my life!”
For the Lord shall comfort Zion: he will comfort all her waste places; and he will make her wilderness like Eden,
and her desert like the garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody. (KJV)
Up until then I wasn’t too fond of my name. While my siblings, Daniel, Sarah and Matthew, were named after people in the bible my name was a thing A thing that was easily mispronounced and mistaken for “Melanie” because I said it too quietly. A thing that childhood peers rhymed with “smell” in taunting songs. My name was a thing I felt that I had to somehow live up to but constantly failed. I failed when I told my mom that I didn’t want to create a baking business called “Melody’s Marvellous Muffins.” I failed when I cringed upon hearing an old family friend sang “in my heart there rings a Melody” every time he saw me. I failed when another elderly friend told me to “sing the song that was in my heart” and I didn’t think I had one. I remember pleading with my mom to let me change my name when I found out that my dad had wanted to call me Tamara. Tamara was the cool character in a book my sister wrote. Tamara fit in.
Given all of the baggage in my name, I can only describe the moment of reading Isaiah 51:3 as a miracle. I could relate to the waste places, the wildnerness and the desert. I knew what it felt like to hide behind books while church friends and the rest of my family mingled, feeling alone and irrelevant. I knew what it felt like to find solace from my misery with middle school lessons by pretending to be somewhere else, to be someone smart and cool and gorgeous. It was in that wasteplace of self loathing that I heard God’s promise. “I will use you and your voice to bring comfort.” In that moment I knew that there were others like me. Others who felt strange and forgotten. Others who tasted failure and found their identity in it. Others who felt like “being cool” was just beyond their reach. Somehow God was going to use me change their barren landscape into a dance party.
Looking back 20+ years later, I can now say that I love my name. My heart warms when Elaina introduces me at a community circle time. “This is my mommy, Melody.” Her voice joyfully dances across the syllables. I love that she plays my first cd over and over and delights in the songs that I felt so self-conscious about and hid away for many years. I love that my children’s first cries calmed as they cuddled on my chest and heard a familiar sound. I love that my voice (most of the time) can comfort tantrums and terrors and tears of sickness and pain.
When I hear the stories of broken hearts, whether in print from faraway nations or a story with tears spilling into the tea across the table something in me cries “you can give life!” Through wrestling with memories of trauma in my past and the everyday mistakes and weariness in my present, I have learned how to speak loving truths to my own heart and comfort instead of berate.
Writing this post was just interrupted by the cries, “Mommy, mommy!” Well, now you can put your money where your mouth is, I thought while scrambling up the stairs to sit with my coughing, crying daughter. I wanted to return to my computer and write about being encouraging rather than living it out on a hard floor in the dark.
It was on that floor just moments ago while feeling both compassion and impatience, that I realized the truth of Isaiah 51:3. It is not the voice of melody that brings encouragement but God. “For the Lord shall comfort Zion…” Melody is the celebration of that comfort, the declaration of His goodness, the voice of joy and gladness, thanksgiving. With Elaina’s cuddled next to mine I cried out silently for God to heal her and be with her in the night when I couldn’t be. I longed to celebrate with her and rejoice when the sickness was no more.
The song in my heart, the song that guy told me to sing when I was seven, is praise. Praise to my Creator. The one who knows when I sit and when I stand. The one who is big enough to create galaxies and close enough to read my thoughts and count my hairs. When he spoke the name “Melody” to my pregnant Mama, he placed that song in my tiny heart.
While the topic of this blog will change I hope that through it all, kid stories, current events etc.. you will experience the Lord’s comfort, living water in your wasteplaces. I hope that one day, in this life or the next, we can celebrate together what He has done.
ps. I just found this prayer at laurabooz.com and wanted to close with it. Whether you are an exhausted mama like me or in a completely different life stage may you be blessed!
EXHAUSTED MOM PRAYER
Heavenly Father,
We lift up ___________ to you
and ask for your Spirit to revive and refresh her spirit.
She is your precious child
and we ask for you to come and comfort her now. Be her strong support.
May she see evidence of your grace.
May she know that you are holding her now.
Help her to believe
that you love her.
Help her to believe
that you want to hear from her. Remind her of your precious promises and sustain her with your Word.
Give her faith to believe that you, Jesus,
Are like a Shepherd.
You will gently guide her
and you will hold her little one close to your heart.
You are faithful when we are faithless.
You are awake and attentive when we are weary. You are strong when we are weak.
We ask you to provide for her every need. Feed her with the richest of food,
refresh her with cool, clear water,
give her opportunities to rest.
Keep her from temptation
and fiercely guard her from evil.
Fill her heart and home with the fruit of your Spirit:
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
For her child’s sake. For her sake.
For Christ’s sake.
Amen.
Song Flower 