Although
I’ve always been called “Terrie,” for the first two decades of my life I
believed my real name was Theresa, after my great-grandmother. Mom explained
that “Terrie” was a nickname and registered me as Theresa at school. The other
kids would snicker whenever an unsuspecting substitute teacher called out
“Theresa” in roll call.
At
thirteen, I decided it might be cool to spell my name Teri. It caught on, and I
remained Teri all through high school. That’s what you’ll see on my high school
diploma and our wedding invitation.
Then,
because I was moving out of the country, I applied for my birth certificate. Lo
and behold, I discovered I’d been legally registered at birth as Terrie. I had never
actually been Theresa at all. We teased Mom that she must have been looped on
painkillers when she filled out the form.
So I
became Terrie once again, and I’ve stuck with that for forty years, although
others have spelled it Teri, Terie, Terry, and Terri. One becomes used to all
the variations when one has a name like mine. I try not to let it cause an
identity crisis.
Recently,
though, I created a Service Canada account online. If you’ve done that, you
know you must first request a special unique code. When my code arrived in the
mail, my name was spelled Teri. Even my middle name, Janette, was misspelled.
Would this discrepancy cause problems down the road? I didn’t want to risk it.
So,
down to the Service Canada office I went. I took along my passport showing the
correct spelling of my name. I should have realized they’d want my birth
certificate and marriage certificate. So, back home I drove for the key to our
security box. When I arrived at the Credit Union, friendly Holly led me into
the room with all the lock boxes and pulled ours out. I went through
everything. No birth or marriage certificates materialized, except for hubby’s.
I returned home, where I found mine in a filing cabinet, and circled back to
Service Canada.
They
entered everything correctly and assured me it was all good.
Several
days later when I again logged into my account, my name still came up wrong.
Back to Service Canada I went, torn between annoyance at the inconvenience and gratitude
for a local office. The lady who helped me before couldn’t solve the issue and
sent me back to the waiting room. When my name was called again, the second
lady went into her computer and assured me my name had been entered correctly
and advised me to move forward with my business regardless of how the login
name showed up.
Last
week, I received the letter I’d been awaiting—still with the wrong spelling of
my name. I returned to our Service Canada office. The lady seemed puzzled, but
assured me it must be just a glitch and suggested I call the toll-free number
and keep toggling between “Press One” and “Press Two” until I reach a human.
All
of which left me wondering who named Service Canada.
Worship
leader Tommy Walker wrote a song that says, “He knows my name; He knows my
every thought; He sees each tear that falls; And He hears me when I call.”
King
David said of God, “You know me inside and out, you know every
bone in my body; You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit, how I was
sculpted from nothing into something. Like an open book, you watched me grow
from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you;
The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.” (Psalm
139)
I
don’t need to worry about what I was or wasn’t named, or how it is or isn’t
spelled. I’m a child of God and he knows my name. He knows yours, too. He is
for you. You are who he says you are, and ultimately, that is more than enough.
