Love in Action

I will call them my people,
which are not my people;
and her beloved,
which was not beloved.
And it shall come to pass
in the place where it was said to them,
"You are not My people,"
there they shall be called
children of the living God.

(Romans 9:25-26)


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I signed up for a writing group the other day and as the woman took my information over the phone she paused when I told her my first name was Amylia (pronounced Amelia).

"Oh, you must be named after somebody," she proclaimed.

"No, I said, I named myself."

"Oooohhh," she said, her tone rising and falling like a see-saw. It begged for explanation, so I went on.

"My mom named me Amy Lynn, but there were always too many Amy's in my class and at work, so when my colleague called me Amylia, it stuck."

Of course, there was more to the story, but I didn't want to bore the poor lady with drawn out explanations of my legal name change, and often hesitate to share the origin of my name because it's personal and some people won't "get it," and will think I'm a fruit. So, I give out a lame little story about how there are too many Amy's in the world, or omit the truth entirely, though there is a kernel of truth to the version I usually share.

Ever since second grade, I was known at Roosevelt Elementary school as AmyB4 (since we had four Amy B's and two Amy Lynn's). Years later, as a university student I worked in an office where Amy's would abound as well, so my colleague turned friend, Ryan, nicknamed me "Amylia" to differentiate. Long story short, I loved it. At the time, I was taking flying lessons and very much enamored with Amelia Earhart. I was also attending a Unity Church regularly, and feeling very much aligned with Spirit. Whenever I was called Amylia, I felt the connotation resonate within me, always making me smile. The new vibrational energy behind the name made me feel I could fly, I could soar, I could do anything I put my mind, too, which is, of course, the truth of each of us.

My friends and family thought it was a phase, and that I'd get over it. After all, in this day and age, outside of marriage, how many people do you know who actually change their names? Even my forefathers held tight to their original names when making the difficult voyage from the Old Country to the New: Bergholz, Hansen, Hoehne, Miller--they all remained unchanged. Yet here I was, a century later, itching to replace their family histories with my own. Somehow though, I knew my ancestors would've likely understood better than my own parents the desire to go against the grain, symbolically setting my own terms, beginning anew and somehow altering my own fate. It was a family tradition. Was I not just following in their footsteps?

A year later, I went through the arduous legal process of an official name change, having to pay a hefty sum to the state, endure months of bureaucracy and red tape, finally appearing before a judge with all my notarized documents, to explain to the state of Wisconsin why I wanted to change my name. The reason I listed on the paperwork was succinct; I simply put "spiritual name change." During the hearing, I nervously made some half-witted joked about there being too many Amy's in my life, and the venerable Judge D. Moroney didn't really question it; the only stipulation that I quickly update my Wisconsin teaching license to reflect my new name.

Unlike my Mutterland of Germany, where you must request legal permission from the government to name a child something other than the usual names (Gustav, Gunther, Wolfgang, Stefan, Sabine, Claudia, Annette), in America, we are free to name our children (or ourselves) anything our hearts desire. I've had students with the most unusual names: Quintessa, Chandelier, Chiquita, Ebay, and altogether too many troublesome Precious's, Angel's and Princess's. So, though my family and childhood friends will always call me Amy, on October 10th, 2004, I suddenly and legally became known to the myself and the world as Amylia Grace.

It felt strange but also liberating when Judge Moroney legally proclaimed me "Amylia Grace." It didn't quite feel like mine yet, but I liked it all the same. Many thoughts crossed my mind in an instant that felt like an eternity: Was I a traitor for giving up my birth name--the name my parents so lovingly picked for me? Why again did I choose to omit my middle name "Lynn," a name I shared with my mother? And what about my family name, which means "Mountain-Wood," did I not as a young teen visit the very town in Germany which boasts my family's name? Does this make me an imposter? C'mon, am I really Amylia?

After all, I always liked the name Amy. The etymology reveals that my name, from the Old French "Aimee," in use since the twelfth century, derives from the Latin amatus (loved), and literally means "beloved." Amy seems a lovely choice for a first born daughter. Amelia, on the other hand, means "industrious, striving; work," from the Old German and Latin Amalia, meaning "work." Hmph! Beloved certainly sounds more endearing than "industrious work!" And yet....and yet...

To me, Amylia means something else entirely. I didn't abandon "Amy," instead choosing to add three little letters, L, I, A. High-minded as it may sound, the additional L, I, and A have a big job. They stand for Love In Action. After all, I've thought a lot about my purpose and my life--why was I born into my particular family with my unique set of circumstances, at this specific time in history, and in a country as complex and wonderful as America? Why is it that teaching doesn't call out to me as it once had in the past? What is my job here on earth? And then it simply and easily dawned on me from that place deep within me that is both a part of me and something more: I am here to love and be loved. What better mission in life is there than that? To live my best life, trying to always come from a place of love. I may not cure diabetes or end poverty and war, but I can be an instrument of God's love. What higher purpose do I have here on earth than simply choosing, in each moment I have, to be Love in Action? I admittedly fall short of this lofty goal, time and time again, but it is forever a part of me now, and I do believe I am a little better person because of it.


Care to share the story of your name?