Week 27
My parents gave me the name Andrew Eugene. Most people call me Andy.
However, I’ve been given other names. Sometimes, I go by “Mystery,” which sounds like “Mr. E,” a name held exclusively by my buddy Brad. He answers all my calls with the phrase, “He’ll always be…” and I’m supposed to finish the statement with “a mystery.”
To the prisoners, I go by “Mr. Eugene” or just “Eugene.” Those who forget my name just call me “Doc.”
To a very select few, I go by “Crowbar,” a name I created for myself because all my friends were too lame to give one, and I was too impatient to wait any longer. To traditionalists, this is a violation of the unwritten rule, “Your name must be given.” That’s OK because I’m sure they wouldn’t like the name I’d like to give them.
But the name my family gave me growing up was “Stupid.” It’s hard to identify the origins of a painful name without incriminating my family members. I don’t want to disparage my brothers, whom I love, but share my story. God’s the judge, not me. Besides, I have plenty of sin to work on without labeling anyone else.
This was done at the dinner table. I was the youngest of six, so it was before the eight most important people in the world to me. As I write this, I realize this is why I was so pressured to have my friends give me a new name.
It wasn’t that I did something stupid; it was my name, as in “Where’s stupid?” and “Is stupid in the front yard?” It was because I was afraid the name would stick, and the name actually stuck.
“Stupid Andy,” a brother would start.
“I told you not to call him that,” said Mom.
Short pause before my other brother would say, “Yeah, don’t call Stupid Andy that.”
The family would giggle.
“I told you to stop. That’s not funny,” Mom was getting angry.
A short pause, then Dad would join in, slurring his words like he was retarded, “Stupid Andy.” Everyone, including my sisters, would burst out in laughter.
I was about 10 then and was a more declawed kitten than a young man. I didn’t know how to get angry. It was an uncomfortable feeling, so I chose not to feel it. I tried to laugh with them, hoping they would stop, but it didn’t. My passivity was interpreted as weakness, which increased the teasing. I had no defenses. I never argued with them or told them to stop. I just stuffed the frustration and hoped it would go away. Today, I call it not being in touch with my anger. But the only word that would accurately describe me was pathetic.
The name stuck through my teen years, with each year making me feel more defeated than the year before. I thought, “Who knows me better than my family? Maybe they are right. Perhaps I am stupid. Maybe I’m just too proud to admit it.” I constantly questioned my decisions and my intelligence in rapid-cycle anxiety. I was desperately afraid others would find out I was stupid. I feared they would all break out in a sing-song chant, “Andy’s stupid. Andy’s stupid. Andy’s stupid.” I feared the Junior High School, walking the tightrope of anxiety.
I had a low, dark cloud in high school just above my head. I wanted to joke with others but would quickly pull back, fearing others might start calling me ‘that name.’ I figured it was better to be lonely and to be exposed as stupid. I just couldn’t handle it if everyone began chanting that I was stupid. And that fear gripped me, so I hid.
I went to college, something no one in my family did, and my anxiety went from pretty high to really high. I would break into a pressured self-talk cycle of doubt. I asked myself, “What are you doing here? You aren’t smart enough to be in college. You should get out before anyone realizes how stupid you are,” with an occasional thought, “Just leave, right now. Pack your stuff and leave in the middle of the night so no one will know how stupid you are.”
The anxiety turned obsessional, and thoughts of suicide floated in and out of my consciousness. I couldn’t tell anyone; that would only bring more shame. I never had a plan to kill myself, but I knew I was way too close to that line. So, I hid, lest I be exposed to the fake I was.
I harbored my shame physically in my gut. Science has not yet shown that the body and mind are connected. I hadn’t read the research from Bissel van der Kolk’s “The Body Keeps Score.” So, I toughed it out, which was manspeak for ignoring the problem. I played with alcohol and marijuana, which offered temporary relief but only made the situation worse. And, in the process, I became the king of hypocrites. I studied the Bible from Monday to Friday, and I’d get high with my cousins on weekends. Yet God pursued me in my dysfunction. Somehow, I passed college and went on to have two different youth pastorates, something I felt called to.
By ignoring the lie, it grew. Carl Jung said, “What we resist, persists.” That was very true for me. It went from “Stupid” to “Stupid and failure,” after failing at two professional youth pastorates. The lie was so deep I wouldn’t speak it out loud for fear it would grow. It was like gnats buzzing at top speed around my head.
I fell in love with a girl from a summer Bible camp, married her, and after nine months, she left me for another guy.
It was apparent to the casual observer that I didn’t have what it took to be a man. I felt the word failure was printed on my forehead, and I saw it every day I looked in the mirror.
I knew I was a hypocrite and realized I couldn’t play the “Christian game” anymore. I was broken. I was 26 and a failure. It was not until it was very dark that I stopped the games and let God take over. I lost my profession, my church, and my wife. I didn’t need to be reproved; I was constantly reproving myself. When I turned to Jesus, I found him standing there, waiting for me. No shame, just love and acceptance.
When you lose everything, you stop and reevaluate your priorities. Underneath all the pain, I still loved the Lord. I still wanted to serve him. I just made a complete mess of my life.
I didn’t have a church, so I went to my parent’s church and got involved. My church became my second family.
While doing all the activities at this church, I met a cute girl. I ended up marrying her for 32 years. Marriage is a beautiful place to face your demons while your wife faces hers. The problem is neither of us was very good at this level of relationship, so we were confused about which demon belonged to whom. This made for intense discussions about blame and growth.
Deb and I were blessed by Magnify Church (then Blythfield Hills Baptist Church), where I learned about my lies. Honestly, I believed the lies more than the truth. They felt more real to me. I learned that the greatest problem in my marriage was me. I learned a language for identifying patterns of my sin so I could surrender them.
Growth in marriage is tied to individual development, and I knew I needed other men in my life. I was afraid to connect with other men, fearing my being exposed. I “knew” I didn’t measure up or have what it took to be a man. After all, I was stupid and a failure, right? But once I got the courage up, I found other men sharing their stories of shame. They were just like me. Who knew?
Once I allowed these good men into my life, I was changed. I went from being alone to belonging. These men’s meetings changed my life. Men shared stories of brokenness and how God met them in their desperation. I was drawn to their honesty and thought, “I want to be like that.”
When I shared my story, I told them the name given to me was “stupid.” I could hear the tenderness in their reaction. Instead of belittling me, they joined me in my pain. They felt my pain. And I went from hiding to being known.
Once I felt received, I started attending all the meetings I could. I found a new language for myself. I always wanted to impact others with the gospel but didn’t believe I had what it took. To change, I had to find a new name, my real name. After examining Scripture, one name stuck out and named me. The name floated up to me from the Bible. It was chosen.
This name applies to everything I do. God chose me to be at this men’s meeting. I was chosen to marry Deb. I was chosen to raise these three children, to be the son of my parents, to be a son-in-law to Deb’s parents, to work at the insurance company I was at, and to have these coworkers. Every office of my life was on purpose. God wanted me there. I wasn’t an afterthought. I was chosen.
It’s in Christ that we find out who we are and what we are living for. Long before we first heard of Christ and got our hopes up, he had his eye on us, had designs on us for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is working out in everything and everyone.
Ephesians 1:11,12 (MSG)
Scripture has divine power to demolish strongholds and everything that sets itself up against the knowledge of God. This gift from God, one that I chose to receive. I am redefined by this name. The truth of God’s word has set me free.
I had to ask myself, “Do I put the epitaph on my gravestone?” Isn’t that something someone else does for you?
When I chose Deb’s gravestone, I made it a double, covering her and my grave. I knew what Deb’s name would be, “Beloved.” It’s something she had always struggled with. She struggled with feeling loved, both by God and by others. The lie that she wasn’t worthy hounded her. So, I honored her by putting her real name under her Christian name, “Beloved child of God.” That’s who she was. And that’s who she is.
But I hadn’t thought about the fact that it’s a double gravestone until a week ago. I had a blank space under my name. Fortunately, it didn’t take me long to figure it out what to put there. I put “Chosen son of God.” That’s who I am.
This is my story. It may be ugly, but it’s part of what God did in my life. It’s where I was from. I don’t want sympathy; I want to honor Jesus. I want to show God’s redemption. As I ran from him, he ran faster.
The name Stupid has faded into the background in my mind. The gnats are all but dead. Today, it holds little power over me. In fact, I have come to understand that my sin held that name (that lie) so close to my chest. I gave it power out of fear. That was never who I was; I just feared it was true and feared being shamed publicly. My family loves me; they always have. I took the hard joking personally and owned what I should not have owned. God had already given me a name; I just wasn’t listening.
I don’t know how long before I die, but I have my gravestone almost completed. Now, all I have to do is die. But at least I know my true name. To me, that’s a win.