When I was younger, I struggled with the idea of last names. Unless you happen to be the queen of England, last names are passed down through males. I was labeled by one man’s name and when I got married, my name would change to a different man’s name. I sort of felt like something that was simply exchanged. Like as kids when we had to have our names on school supplies, I felt like someone had taken a Sharpie marker and written across my forehead to whom I belonged. Whenever I would think about this, bitterness and anger would stir up inside me and I thought about how I should go about life with just my first name. It seemed to work out okay for Madonna or Cher. Then I wouldn’t belong to anyone. I would be my own person.
Then, Troy Carlson came along and when we started dating, I knew I wanted to be with him forever, but that idea of being tagged by even him still nagged at me, though I loved him. I realized that there would come a day when I would be a Carlson longer than I was a Kohler and decided to embrace this new title of Mrs. Carlson. Honestly, I didn’t really have the energy to fight the social stigma that would come from just being Pamela. Plus, my name isn’t cool enough to stand on its own.
As Troy tenderly loved and cared for me, those feelings of bitterness began to melt away. I no longer felt that I was a piece of property to be owned by a man, but I began to feel more like a treasure who was valued. Then the day came when I felt in my heart that I loved being labeled as Troy’s, not because I was something to be possessed but because I loved that my place was with him. I wear the Carlson name as a badge of pride and honor. I love being a Carlson because I love being Troy’s wife. Troy is loving, safe, wise and thoughtful. Belonging to him means I have a better idea of who I am as a person because I can exercise that within the freedom his his love.
Most of us struggle with this idea of control and the illusion that we have it. Our need to be our own boss and have our own identity has become the standard of our time but goes against the plan that God has for us. He made us and so we do belong to him, whether or not we choose to accept this reality. The thing is, God never meant for us to feel like we were just another marker in his school supplies box with his name written across the side. He too tenderly loves and cares for us and when we realize that we are His, then we also have a better idea who we actually are.
We are treasured. We are loved. We are valued. We are cared for. We are worth the transgressions that Christ bore for us. We are forgiven. We are co-heirs with Christ. We are children of the Living God.
I don’t know about you, but I love all those labels. I love those labels so much that I don’t mind at all that I belong to God. In fact, I gladly grab that Sharpie and write his name on my heart! In his fold, we are safe and loved and while that doesn’t mean we get to live easy and cushy lives, it does mean that our lives have purpose and meaning.
Today, when I think about to whom I belong, the bitterness and anger are gone. They have been replaced by love and gratitude.This realization did not happen overnight. I am still continuing to grow into the woman that God wants me to be but I can say with great pride that I know who I am.
My name is Pamela Carlson.
I am the wife of Troy and the mother to Zachary, Sadie and Ellie.
I am organized, positive and on occasion, really funny.
I am a mistake maker and a forgiveness receiver.
I am a tuna hater but a french fry lover.
I am a writer, a reader and a mover and a shaker.
I am a radio rock star and a family dance party participator.
I am Rock, Paper, Scissors giant and a directionally challenged navigator.
I am a lose-motor-functions laugher and label maker queen.
I am the kisser of the boo-boos and the celebrater of birthdays.
I am deeply loved by my favorite person on the planet - who then showed me how deeply loved I am my by Creator.
But above all, I belong to the Lord.
I am His and He is mine.
