Eric Dinner Dinner
Eric Dinner Dinner
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.”- Isaiah 43:1
A couple summers ago, we drove from Prosper to Sarasota, Florida to visit my family. It’s an insufferably long drive with not a whole lot to look at. To break the boredom, I stop for anything that looks even remotely interesting. (Yes, we’ve stopped at the giant watermelon in Seminary, Mississippi. Every. Time.)
On this most recent trip, my mom made it clear she didn’t have room for my old things anymore and would be “gifting” them back to me. In the past, we had flown to Florida, and by a miracle, there was never room in the luggage. But this time we had the SUV and my excuses wore thin.
Toward the end of the visit came the giant Rubbermaid box. Inside were photo albums, scrapbooks, and random little trinkets, some triggering vivid memories, others leaving me wondering why we kept them at all.
As I rummaged through it, I found a small handmade book from kindergarten: my earliest memory of the Thursday Knights program at church. It was a collection of dinner prayers we had cut and glued together, then titled and signed.
As a five-year-old, I was still unsure about this whole “writing thing,” so I copied what the other kids were doing. We were supposed to write: “Dinner Prayers by [your name].”
Mine read: “By Eric Dinner Dinner.” Oops.
When I showed it to the class, one of the girls said, “Eric Dinner Dinner? That’s not your name!” I remember the heat rising in my face. To add insult to injury, I also hole-punched the wrong corner, so the book had to be read backwards. It was a small mistake. But it felt enormous.
When I pulled that little book from the Rubbermaid box 30 years later, the moment came rushing back. And I realized something I hadn’t noticed before: I never opened it even once at the dinner table. I never read a prayer from it. That book, meant for gratitude, became a symbol of embarrassment instead.
A five-year-old makes a mistake. Someone says, “That’s not your name.” Then he learns shame.
Looking back, I can see how self-consciousness followed me for years. Critiques from teachers, comments from friends, and even emails from co-workers would ruminate in my mind, especially when laying down at the end of the day.
Shame has a way of hollowing us out.
But Scripture tells a different story. Through the prophet Isaiah, God says: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1) Before we have done anything right or wrong, we are named by God.
Lent is a season of quieting the noise long enough to hear what is true. Maybe it’s also a season of laying down the names we picked up along the way: Not Good Enough. Too Much. Not Smart Enough. Embarrassing.
Maybe it’s time to bring those old, backward-hole-punched pages back to the table.
Somewhere along the way, I learned to confuse mistakes with identity. The grown-up knows better, but sometimes still forgets. This Lent, I’m asking God to quiet the voice of embarrassment and amplify the voice that says, “You are mine.”
If you’ve been carrying an old miswritten name, maybe it’s time to lay it down and listen again for the One who calls you Beloved.
Reflection: What might change in your spiritual life if you truly believed that God calls you by name and calls you Beloved before you get anything right?
Prayer: Gracious God, You know the names we have carried and the moments that shaped them. Quiet the voice of shame that tells us we are our mistakes. Help us to hear again Your voice calling us by name and calling us Beloved. Amen.
With faith, hope, and love,
Eric Smith