“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.”—Isaiah 43:1 (NIV)

 

Nine people mispronounced my first name yesterday. My name, Sabra, has been a problem my entire life. I remember the first day of school when I was in kindergarten, my very first day of meeting people by myself, the teacher said, “Oh, you’re a girl. I wondered if you would be a boy or a girl. How do I say it?” 

Not an easy start—and a difficult name to own—for a very shy little girl. Since then, meeting people has been problematic. Someone extends a hand and mispronounces my name, which leads to a back and forth of corrections. For years, I practiced how to introduce myself and how to subtly and kindly explain the right way to say it. At my college graduation, the speaker said, “I’m not even going to try this one”—and I knew it was me. 

My name originates from the legend of Saint George and the Dragon. Saint George slays the dragon and saves Princess Sabra from a terrible fate. Over the years, I’ve been called Sabrina, Serena, Saber, Sabre, Zahra, Zorba, and even Zebra. 

So last night, after decades of uncomfortable moments, graduations, bosses, and the nine people mispronouncing my name, it all came to a head, and I became angry. I went for a walk and stomped the pavement and complained. I asked, “Why, God, why is my name so hard? Why?” 

You are my child, I heard in my heart. Do not worry about your name. I know who you are.