My Middle Name

Today, in the midst of the little busy things of running errands, stamping envelops, and talking with friends, I realize something that makes me slow down. I order a new license, one of the small "to-do's" to check off, and I stare at the words on the screen. It's a strange thing to own a new last name. I've never had to sign something so long on a piece of paper at the grocery store; I've never had to correct someone so many times when they rearrange the "ub" and the "urb." Even still, my heart is so full when I think about a friend's father's toast at her wedding. He looked at her new groom and said, "she holds your last name now." And the weight of what that meant, the joy and pride he had saying it was so rich. Just as Christ waits for his bride, the church, and invites covenant people into the family, adopting a new identity in him, I display that reflection of His love by getting to "take on" Aaron's last name. And there is a swelling in my heart about this. Even so, I think about the name I dropped and I can't help but feel a little strange.. I think about how it never really felt like mine to begin with. My middle name is the least familiar to me. McKenna. The name of the flight attendant in Ireland my mother met when she worked for Air Lingus. Who was she? My mother liked the way it sounded - reaffirmed when she saw it spelled out in a calendar. My middle name was a result of small talk on a plane, and fragmented words under pictures. And I love that about my name. Aren't we all, in some form or another, made up of such seemingly insignificant moments?