In the past few weeks, I’ve attended the Celebration of Life for two friends. They were both 83 when they passed, the same age as my mother when she died almost five years ago. Interestingly, they were very similar in their passion for Christ and their boldness in sharing. No one ever wondered what these women were thinking as they stood their ground, professed their faith, and encouraged others to do the same. They were head-strong and passionate and had a way of getting their point across, sometimes to the chagrin of others. They also loved deeply and had a way of making others feel important.

During Marie’s funeral, as I listened to her daughter speak, a bit of sadness pricked my heart. This beautiful ceremony honoring Marie was a such a contrast to my own mother’s celebration. Although meticulously planned, a song we chose was skipped over, the video of Mom’s pastor (who couldn’t attend) didn’t work, and the pastor who did speak spent most of his time reflecting on my father whom he had admired. It was nice to remember Dad, but this was Mom’s funeral. Our attempt to create an extraordinary celebration for our treasured Mom had left us disappointed.

Adding to the disappointment though was this pastor, who had married all three of us siblings and conducted my father’s funeral, mentioned my brother and sister by name but left out my name! It was rather bizarre since the same thing happened at my mother-in-law’s funeral as all the family names were read aloud, except mine, as the priest inadvertently skipped over it while reading off the list. Yep, I might need therapy!

But back to Marie’s celebration: The evening of her celebration, I was going through some old cards to purge a box. Opening one card, I saw Marie’s name written across the bottom. What a sweet surprise on today, of all days, as I read her note filled with encouraging words. The memory of her voice filled my mind as I recalled how her words seemed to trickle with joyful laughter.

Weeks later at Judy’s funeral, I sat next to a man who served in the legislature with my dad. Jack and I shared a few remembrances of Dad when it occurred to me that the next day would mark 37 years since Dad’s passing. Stinging fresh grief accompanied me during Judy’s beautiful tribute. As friends and family shared stories of Judy, there was a common thread: People mattered to her. Even though we weren’t close friends, we had a sweet relationship. In her final weeks, my name had crossed her mind, and she had sent me a personal message of encouragement as she bid me goodbye.

In reflecting on these remarkable women, it made me think of Paul’s words from 2 Corinthians 4:13: “I believed in God, so I spoke.” I felt challenged to ponder: If my name were to cross someone’s mind, would it cause them to think of my love for Jesus? Would others feel encouraged, inspired, and treasured? Would they know where I stand, even if we disagreed?

Depending on how we live, our names can evoke any variety of feelings and emotions. There is power in our names. In fact, consider for a moment the name of Jesus. His name alone cast out demons, healed the sick, and raised the dead. When we acknowledge the name of Jesus as Lord and Savior, confessing our sins, we are saved for all eternity.

Philippians 4:2-3 tells the story of two women who worked to tell others the Good News of Christ, resulting in their names being written in the Book of Life. Revelations 20:12 warns that, “Anyone whose name was not found recorded in the Book of Life was thrown into the lake of fire.”  MSG. Because of the name of Jesus Christ, my name is written in the Book of Life. Even so, I have work to do because I want the mention of my name to bring reflections of Christ’s unconditional love, spoken because of my belief, even if it means going against the flow.