My Name Is Rachel

Those who know me for any length of time at all tend to discover early that I have a thing about names. I am of the mindset that a persons name reveals much of who they are. I will not use this post to delve into the means by which I believe that happens; today I am examining my own name & it's influences within my life, of which I am only now, at 39, becoming really aware... Maybe it's therapy, I don't know, but it has been stirring within me for several months & I can't get away from it so I need to put it somewhere. I choose here, in the relative anonymity of my blog-o-sphere...

My name is Rachel...

I grew up, like most young Americans of a Christian upbringing, hearing the story of Jacob & how after meeting a young shepherdess he worked 14yrs for Laban, the father of that shepherdess, Rachel. It seems Jacob's love for the girl was immense & he chose her from the first moment he laid eyes on her but Laban drove a hard bargain & must have recognized how bright a torch Jacob carried for his young daughter for he managed to secure 7yrs of labor from Jacob on the promise of Rachel's hand. We all know the story, right? At the end of the 7yrs Laban gave Leah, Rachel's older sister, to Jacob rather than Rachel. Laban must have been quite proud of himself, knowing he had the upper hand, and managed to convince Jacob to contract for 7yrs more for the hand of Rachel. That's 14yrs... A long time to wait to make the woman he loved his own. What an incredible love story. Right? We also know that the 2 sons born to Jacob by Rachel seemed to be favored above those born to him by Leah & that when Rachel died Jacob mourned her bitterly for the rest of his life... This is what it is to be a Rachel. It is to know the love & loyalty of a man so completely that he would pay extraordinary prices to claim her... I grew up hearing this story & because I shared the name I identified with Rachel. To be a Rachel is to be chosen... right?

Except, I wasn't... ever, really...

I am not the girl that inspires grand romantic gestures like in the story above. Shoot, I'm not the girl that even inspires a romantic dinner. In fact, the only times I've ever even received flowers has been along with apology notes and not the "sorry I couldn't make it" type of apology but the "sorry I slept with your best friend" type. So then, how is it fitting that my name is Rachel? Rachel was chosen and I have never been... Even by those that I had chosen or who by those that claimed to have done so. How do I reconcile the disappointments of where my life has led to my belief that one's name gives key insights into their life and personality? I gave up trying.

A funny thing happens when you stop chasing/searching for a thing. It often finds you.

I've always know that the name Rachel is of Hebrew origin and means lamb. Sweet. Right? Then I took a look at the connotation... that's when it started to get interesting...