A president's pension currently is $191,300 per year, until he is 80 years old. Assuming the next president lives to age 80. Sen. McCain would receive ZERO pension as he would reach 80 at the end of two terms as president. Sen. Obama would be retired for 26 years after two terms and would receive $4,973,800 in pension. Therefore it would certainly make economic sense to elect McCain in November.
I totally cut and pasted this from my mom's blog. It was too funny not to.
Alright, so Ronnica is technically right. The pension is lifetime- not just to 80 years old. But, McCain is still gonna kick off before Obabma- and it's still funny.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Being Famous Gives Me A Migraine
Actually I have been getting them off and on since I was about 13. They are not connected to my female cycle. My triggers are lack of sleep, sleeping away from home, not eating, changes in my birth control, and apparently, being famous.
After all that Blog Around The World Fame I was a little sleep deprived. Then I went to Seattle yesterday to do something unique. I got to be in the audience for NorthWest Afternoon. It's local afternoon gossip show. It was the last live audience for Cind Rinehart's Scoop on the Soaps. 
Big. Stinkin. Woopdi. Doo. You would have to care about Cindi Rinehart or Soaps to be even a little excited. I don't. I know, you're asking yourself why I even went.
Big. Stinkin. Woopdi. Doo. You would have to care about Cindi Rinehart or Soaps to be even a little excited. I don't. I know, you're asking yourself why I even went.When we lived in Georgia we made friends with the family downstairs. They had a 14 year old daughter, a 10 year old son, a 5 year old daughter and the mom was pregnant. Well, that punk-assed 10 year old bugged the heck out of me! I used to stand it just long enough and then I would drop him to the ground. Slowly we became more evenly matched, and then one day he dropped me to the ground. That was the last time I tried to assert myself.
So, Punk ass 10 year old is about 28 years old now. He grew up to be a real nice guy (probably because I kept him in his place for so long), a great dad, and a good family friend to my husband and I.
Karim (aka Punk Ass) did a little prerecorded spot on NorthWest afternoon, so he invited me to be in the audience. From 1-3:30. That meant that my day was: eat breakfast, do morning chores, take the kids to the school for the Meet and Greet/ Walk through, dash to meet my mom, and then run down to Seattle. I was SO hungry by the time I got out of there. I left Seattle immediately so I would miss the traffic, and by the traffic reports it sounds like I was just ahead of the mess.
I grabbed some AppleBee's Carside To Go, but I think it was too little, too late. By the time I got to my mom's my head was hammering. I laid down and dozed a little, got up, felt like I would puke, laid down a little more, tried getting up again, and then just laid down and admitted defeat. I couldn't even respond when my kids told me that they saw me on TV 3 WHOLE TIMES! I finally asked my mom and dad to take us home.
So, I have decided that being famous gives me migraines!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Whew!
I need a nap now- for about 8 hours. Thanks for coming over and seeing me yesterday ( I know it's not still yesterday technically, but since I haven't gone to bed yet...). I think I came and saw each and every new visitor personally. If I didn't I'm sorry. To all my faithful readers, consider this your thank you.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
I have been thinking about this post for a while, and I decided to bite the bullet and write it while I am still in a serious vein- you know, before I return to my usual silliness. I hinted earlier at a post about the legacy that my parents have given to me, so here you go:
I was born at a very young age. Good thing, too, or I would have missed a lot of my life. As it is, I can remember a whole lot of it, much earlier than a lot of people, I think. Here's my story:
In order to understand the dream that I have lived you have to know that both of my parents came from HIGHLY dysfunctional homes. I have heard that sometime early in their marriage they sat down and talked about what "normal" would be for their family. Because they knew that the abnormal that they had lived was not OK.
By the time I was born, my mom had become a Christian and was exploring churches. Going to church on Sunday Morning has always been a part of my life. I have been blessed to have been wrapped in a cloak of church family for as long as I can remember. And, honestly, I don't remember a point where I became "saved." I only remember always knowing that Jesus died on the cross to pay for my sins, and that He was the Messiah, and that because I believed this I was going to Heaven when I died.
When I was about 5 we moved to Washington state. One day at the laundromat we met a new pastor and his wife. That wily guy looked at that passel of kids and saw an opportunity to get the parents to church. He invited us kids to "Back Yard Bible Club" which he had just made up right there on the spot. Pastor Ray and Trudy ended up being my parents best friends. I went to that little country church for about 20 years.
Once Pastor Ray had the kids hooked, he started reeling the parents- more specifically, my dad-in. My dad would get up on Sunday morning, help my mom get us ready for church and then go back to bed. I remember crawling up into my daddy's arms and asking him, "Daddy, will you come to church with us today and learn how to be a Christian?"
I remember clearly the night a few of us kids had gone to the movies. We had called home but no one answered. So we walked. It was all of a mile. In a small town. I thought for sure we would get in trouble, but as we walked through the door the house was so quiet. I realized that it was because Pastor Ray was praying with my dad. He was asking Christ into his life. I think I was about 6.
So, from an early age I had a firm foundation under me.
When I was 12 I went to Lakeside Bible Camp. It wasn't the first time. But this year was special because it was that year, around the late night bonfire, that I told Jesus he could be the Lord of my life and not just my Saviour.
And they lived happily ever after. Right? Not really. I did really stupid young teen age stuff. I did really stupid young adult stuff. But I always knew I was charmed. Blessed.
Not until I was about 30 did I have my real "Shaking." You don't know what the glass is full of until you jostle it and it spills over. Boy, was I jostled. And it hurt.
My husband and I own our own general contracting business. We were wrongfully sued that year. Our church was going through a VERY nasty split. And my extended family was in crisis. Those were 3 of my 4 pillars; Church, family, and finance. At least my marriage was strong. I felt so very forsaken. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I care to count. I worried and paced holes in the floor. I felt so removed from God. So adrift. Battered.
I finally came to the point where I had to decide, "Do I really believe what I say I do, or not? Is my faith real, or have I simply been living the way that I have been told to- because it is 'right?'"
I confided in my good friend Kelly about all of my struggles after a MOPs meeting. She hugged me and prayed with me in the freezing church parking lot. She prayed that God would remind me that I am never alone.
On the drive home that night, a car passed me and I saw, in my rear view mirror by the light ot their headlights, a man sitting in my back seat. I whipped my head around and there was no one there. What?! Another car passed, and again I clearly saw the man- and then he was gone when I looked again. This was only a matter of seconds. I thought I might be going crazy! I examined my situation: I was singing praise (Finally, I had broken through the wall that was keeping me from God) and I wasn't afraid. I realized that at that moment God had chosen to answer Kelly's prayer for me. He had sent an angel to me to remind me that I was not alone. Never. And, that no matter how far away I felt from Him, He was never far from me.
When I was 30 years old I finally decided that I would follow God because he had proven himself to me in my life. Not because I was told to do it. Not because it was "right." But because my Heavenly Father had shown me how much he loved me when I hurt so badly. With in 6 months the lawsuit was dropped, and we had found a new church.
I owe the person that I am today to the foundation that my parents gave to me as a little girl.
I was born at a very young age. Good thing, too, or I would have missed a lot of my life. As it is, I can remember a whole lot of it, much earlier than a lot of people, I think. Here's my story:
In order to understand the dream that I have lived you have to know that both of my parents came from HIGHLY dysfunctional homes. I have heard that sometime early in their marriage they sat down and talked about what "normal" would be for their family. Because they knew that the abnormal that they had lived was not OK.
By the time I was born, my mom had become a Christian and was exploring churches. Going to church on Sunday Morning has always been a part of my life. I have been blessed to have been wrapped in a cloak of church family for as long as I can remember. And, honestly, I don't remember a point where I became "saved." I only remember always knowing that Jesus died on the cross to pay for my sins, and that He was the Messiah, and that because I believed this I was going to Heaven when I died.
When I was about 5 we moved to Washington state. One day at the laundromat we met a new pastor and his wife. That wily guy looked at that passel of kids and saw an opportunity to get the parents to church. He invited us kids to "Back Yard Bible Club" which he had just made up right there on the spot. Pastor Ray and Trudy ended up being my parents best friends. I went to that little country church for about 20 years.
Once Pastor Ray had the kids hooked, he started reeling the parents- more specifically, my dad-in. My dad would get up on Sunday morning, help my mom get us ready for church and then go back to bed. I remember crawling up into my daddy's arms and asking him, "Daddy, will you come to church with us today and learn how to be a Christian?"
I remember clearly the night a few of us kids had gone to the movies. We had called home but no one answered. So we walked. It was all of a mile. In a small town. I thought for sure we would get in trouble, but as we walked through the door the house was so quiet. I realized that it was because Pastor Ray was praying with my dad. He was asking Christ into his life. I think I was about 6.
So, from an early age I had a firm foundation under me.
When I was 12 I went to Lakeside Bible Camp. It wasn't the first time. But this year was special because it was that year, around the late night bonfire, that I told Jesus he could be the Lord of my life and not just my Saviour.
And they lived happily ever after. Right? Not really. I did really stupid young teen age stuff. I did really stupid young adult stuff. But I always knew I was charmed. Blessed.
Not until I was about 30 did I have my real "Shaking." You don't know what the glass is full of until you jostle it and it spills over. Boy, was I jostled. And it hurt.
My husband and I own our own general contracting business. We were wrongfully sued that year. Our church was going through a VERY nasty split. And my extended family was in crisis. Those were 3 of my 4 pillars; Church, family, and finance. At least my marriage was strong. I felt so very forsaken. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I care to count. I worried and paced holes in the floor. I felt so removed from God. So adrift. Battered.
I finally came to the point where I had to decide, "Do I really believe what I say I do, or not? Is my faith real, or have I simply been living the way that I have been told to- because it is 'right?'"
I confided in my good friend Kelly about all of my struggles after a MOPs meeting. She hugged me and prayed with me in the freezing church parking lot. She prayed that God would remind me that I am never alone.
On the drive home that night, a car passed me and I saw, in my rear view mirror by the light ot their headlights, a man sitting in my back seat. I whipped my head around and there was no one there. What?! Another car passed, and again I clearly saw the man- and then he was gone when I looked again. This was only a matter of seconds. I thought I might be going crazy! I examined my situation: I was singing praise (Finally, I had broken through the wall that was keeping me from God) and I wasn't afraid. I realized that at that moment God had chosen to answer Kelly's prayer for me. He had sent an angel to me to remind me that I was not alone. Never. And, that no matter how far away I felt from Him, He was never far from me.
When I was 30 years old I finally decided that I would follow God because he had proven himself to me in my life. Not because I was told to do it. Not because it was "right." But because my Heavenly Father had shown me how much he loved me when I hurt so badly. With in 6 months the lawsuit was dropped, and we had found a new church.
I owe the person that I am today to the foundation that my parents gave to me as a little girl.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Blog Around The World
Hello, Ladies (and Gentleman).
If you want to see the tour of Washington state, skip on over to my mom's blog, otherwise:
Welcome to my day in the sun. I was famous once before, so actually, my 15 minutes of fame are over. Read all about one of the six loves of my life today, and then come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. And, yes Mom, that was just to bug you.
I thought maybe, just maybe, I should give you the book-flap synopsis of life on the other side of the computer.
Blog Facts:
- It's really my sister's fault that you like me. She is the one who set up my blog after I sent her an article that I had submitted to our MOPs newsletter. She thinks I want to be just like her. She's right. I copy her all the time. I don't think it bugs her too much anymore.
- It's sort of my fault that you like our mom. I didn't actually set her blog up for her, but I helped her figure it out. And I still know her password- and sometimes I even correct her posts.
- I have one more sister who blogs. Sometimes.
Me Facts:
- I am married to Sebastian. We celebrated our 11th anniversary this year.
- We live in the house that God literally handed to us. I still get a little choked up when I drive into the driveway- after 10 years.
- We have 5 kids (You can read about them under the label "And In No Particular Order") ages 11, almost 9, 7 1/2, 6, and 3 3/4. They are the handful in my blog title.
- I am re-embarking into the realm of homeschooling this year. The oldest is going into 7th grade, but the social aspect of middle school is just too vicious for him.
- I have been a Child of God for as long as I can remember, and I thank my parents for the legacy that they have given me. (I feel a post coming on. You'll have to check back now!)
Well, you world travellers, we only serve Coke here- and your options are room temperature or car temperature- so grab a cup of ice and get cozy. I'm so glad you came.
A Love Story
This post is long overdue.
It was waiting for such a special occasion.
This is my love story.
I was a lonely little girl on the brink of becoming a woman. I went to high school in Marietta, GA, so by the time I moved back to Washington where I grew up I no longer had any friends in the area. I began attending the community college nearby and immediately fell in with the BSU (Baptist Student Union) group on campus. I really clicked and I was finally making friends again.
But things never seem to stay the same for long in my life. My parents decided to move to Eastern Washington. At 20 and finally getting into a groove, I really didn't want to go- besides the move was only going to be for a few years until my dad could start his own chiropractic practice- so I stayed. I am the youngest of six kids and I had plenty of other family in the area. I stayed with my oldest sister and her family since they were close to the college and my job. That is until her husband took a job in Oregon, at which point my aunt and I got a house together.
But as I said, I was lonely. I missed my mom terribly. Since I was the only kid at home when we lived in Georgia, she and I were REALLY close. I was paying rent and going to school 20 credit hours- which meant also working 35 hours a week. You know, basically learning how to be a grown up. And alone. Which, as I already mentioned in a previous post, I don't do very well.
I decided to have a BSU New Years Eve Party. It was pretty boring. You know how those good Christian kids are. At about 10:30 someone knocked on the door. Obviously someone I didn't know because I have ALWAYS been a "let yourself right in" person. When I answered the door there was this tall, skinny, Euro guy standing there with a girl I didn't know. He said in his strong European accent, "Uh, hey-lo, I am looook-ingk for Geeeeena. Leeeah eenvited meee." Well, Leah I did know. And I wasn't alone. So I let the strange Euro dude into my house. I didn't know it that night but I had also let him into my life. Forever.
My boring party? Instantly fun. Mr. Euro knew so many funny stories- most of them relating to his mangling of the American language or his tromping on American culture. He really knew how to laugh at himself. That was really appealing to me. And he knew a lot of fun group games. And he was with a girl. Dang.
Shortly after 1 am I said goodbye to my last guests and fell into bed and thought about the night. And the fact that he was with a girl. Dang. What was his name again, anyway?
About 2 weeks later I was going to work at my little chiropractic screening kiosk in the mall when who should walk by but Mr. Euro. He stopped and came to say hello and we both instantly realized that we had met at this very spot at Christmas time. The chiropractor had hired a couple of massage therapists to do seated massage out in the mall kiosk for the Christmas shopping crowd. One of his friends had stopped and gotten a massage and we chatted while she did.
The third time's the charm, right? This time he asked me if I wanted to walk down to the food court with him and get a pop or something. Did I? Since I was about 10 minutes early I said yes. As we were leaving my boss whispered in my ear that I didn't have to be in for another half hour. We had fun talking over Coke and when he dropped me back off at work, I blurted out, "Do you want to go to a Bible Study with me at the UW BSU?" I had NEVER asked a guy out before....
We went. We had a good time. We ended up at the waterfront afterward, talking until midnight. A few days later I was talking to my mom on the phone. In the bathroom. In my pajamas. Taking off my makeup. Who do you suppose called? Yep, Mr. Euro. He wanted to take me out to dinner. I think I actually hung up on my mom- or forgot she was on the other line. I let him take me out to dinner. And for a drive. Into the mountains. Late at night.
We were finally standing looking at one of the peaks, him standing behind me with his arms around my shoulders. All of a sudden he spun me around and I could tell that he was going to kiss me. He did. On my forehead. And he told me that I was such a blessing to him.
Whoa, hold the phone! This guy that I barely knew had me all alone in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and he kisses my forehead?! And he calls me a blessing?! Be still, my heart. I knew in that moment that this was the man I was going to marry.
That totally freaks him out. It took him a lot longer to get to the same conclusion. After 11 years of marriage it still takes him a lot longer to reach my conclusions. That's actually pretty good for me, because it gives me time to think through my gut reactions and examine if they are really right. (They usually are- but usually is not always.)
I can hardly remember my life without Sebastian. And, God willing, I never have to think about a time when he won't be here. I am more in love with him today than I was 12 1/2 years ago if that is even possible.
I love the lyrics to the song "Longer" by Dan Folgelberg:
Through the years as the fire
starts to mellow
Burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the
pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you.
It was waiting for such a special occasion.
This is my love story.
I was a lonely little girl on the brink of becoming a woman. I went to high school in Marietta, GA, so by the time I moved back to Washington where I grew up I no longer had any friends in the area. I began attending the community college nearby and immediately fell in with the BSU (Baptist Student Union) group on campus. I really clicked and I was finally making friends again.
But things never seem to stay the same for long in my life. My parents decided to move to Eastern Washington. At 20 and finally getting into a groove, I really didn't want to go- besides the move was only going to be for a few years until my dad could start his own chiropractic practice- so I stayed. I am the youngest of six kids and I had plenty of other family in the area. I stayed with my oldest sister and her family since they were close to the college and my job. That is until her husband took a job in Oregon, at which point my aunt and I got a house together.
But as I said, I was lonely. I missed my mom terribly. Since I was the only kid at home when we lived in Georgia, she and I were REALLY close. I was paying rent and going to school 20 credit hours- which meant also working 35 hours a week. You know, basically learning how to be a grown up. And alone. Which, as I already mentioned in a previous post, I don't do very well.
I decided to have a BSU New Years Eve Party. It was pretty boring. You know how those good Christian kids are. At about 10:30 someone knocked on the door. Obviously someone I didn't know because I have ALWAYS been a "let yourself right in" person. When I answered the door there was this tall, skinny, Euro guy standing there with a girl I didn't know. He said in his strong European accent, "Uh, hey-lo, I am looook-ingk for Geeeeena. Leeeah eenvited meee." Well, Leah I did know. And I wasn't alone. So I let the strange Euro dude into my house. I didn't know it that night but I had also let him into my life. Forever.
My boring party? Instantly fun. Mr. Euro knew so many funny stories- most of them relating to his mangling of the American language or his tromping on American culture. He really knew how to laugh at himself. That was really appealing to me. And he knew a lot of fun group games. And he was with a girl. Dang.
Shortly after 1 am I said goodbye to my last guests and fell into bed and thought about the night. And the fact that he was with a girl. Dang. What was his name again, anyway?
About 2 weeks later I was going to work at my little chiropractic screening kiosk in the mall when who should walk by but Mr. Euro. He stopped and came to say hello and we both instantly realized that we had met at this very spot at Christmas time. The chiropractor had hired a couple of massage therapists to do seated massage out in the mall kiosk for the Christmas shopping crowd. One of his friends had stopped and gotten a massage and we chatted while she did.
The third time's the charm, right? This time he asked me if I wanted to walk down to the food court with him and get a pop or something. Did I? Since I was about 10 minutes early I said yes. As we were leaving my boss whispered in my ear that I didn't have to be in for another half hour. We had fun talking over Coke and when he dropped me back off at work, I blurted out, "Do you want to go to a Bible Study with me at the UW BSU?" I had NEVER asked a guy out before....
We went. We had a good time. We ended up at the waterfront afterward, talking until midnight. A few days later I was talking to my mom on the phone. In the bathroom. In my pajamas. Taking off my makeup. Who do you suppose called? Yep, Mr. Euro. He wanted to take me out to dinner. I think I actually hung up on my mom- or forgot she was on the other line. I let him take me out to dinner. And for a drive. Into the mountains. Late at night.
We were finally standing looking at one of the peaks, him standing behind me with his arms around my shoulders. All of a sudden he spun me around and I could tell that he was going to kiss me. He did. On my forehead. And he told me that I was such a blessing to him.
Whoa, hold the phone! This guy that I barely knew had me all alone in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and he kisses my forehead?! And he calls me a blessing?! Be still, my heart. I knew in that moment that this was the man I was going to marry.
That totally freaks him out. It took him a lot longer to get to the same conclusion. After 11 years of marriage it still takes him a lot longer to reach my conclusions. That's actually pretty good for me, because it gives me time to think through my gut reactions and examine if they are really right. (They usually are- but usually is not always.)
I can hardly remember my life without Sebastian. And, God willing, I never have to think about a time when he won't be here. I am more in love with him today than I was 12 1/2 years ago if that is even possible.
I love the lyrics to the song "Longer" by Dan Folgelberg:
Through the years as the fire
starts to mellow
Burning lines in the book of our lives
Though the binding cracks and the
pages start to yellow
I'll be in love with you.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
What In The Name Of...
I've been thinking- because I've been left to my own devices lately- about names, what they mean, and whether or not they suit the person.
Take my name, Gina (a diminutive form of Regina), for example:
Late Latin name meaning "queen". It was in use as a Christian name from early times, and was borne by a 2nd-century saint.
In a conversation with one of my sisters about this topic, she laughed when she heard the meaning of my name. Why? Because she says it suits me perfectly. I don't know if my parents knew the meaning of my name when they gave it to me or not, but I have heard over and over that it matches up to my personality quite well. (I hope just the good aspects of being a queen, nothing proceeded by "Drama" or "Drag" or the like.)
When I named my own children I picked names that I liked that had meanings I could live with. You know, nothing like Jabez, or Delilia, or Jezabel. What surprises me, it how much each of my children suit their names- or the other way around. Check it out:
Jesse
From the Hebrew name יִשַׁי (Yishay) which possibly meant "gift". Jesse was the father of King David in the Old Testament.
Jesse was a gift that I didn't deserve. He is a perfect example of how God can take our sin and turn it into something beautiful that we don't deserve.
Caleb
Means "dog" in Hebrew. In the Old Testament this was the name of one of the twelve spies sent by Moses into Israel. Of the Israelites who left Egypt with Moses, Caleb and Joshua were the only ones who lived to see the promised land.
Caleb is faithful. He is loyal to a fault. He is a faithful companion and a whole hearted servant. Where Jesse has all the "big ideas," Caleb is the one to see them through.
Elizabeth
From the Hebrew name אֱלִישֶׁבַע ('Elisheva') meaning "my God is an oath" or perhaps "my God is abundance". It appears in the New Testament where Elizabeth is the mother of John the Baptist.
If Elizabeth ever doubts what I say, I can show her where it comes from in the bible and that is the end of the discussion. If God said it, then it is good enough for Elizabeth.
Abigial
From the Hebrew name אֲבִיגָיִל ('Avigayil) meaning "my father is joy". In the Old Testament this was the name of Nabal's wife. After Nabal's death she became the wife of King David.
Abigail is the light of her Heavenly Father reflected as joy. She is also the delight of her earthly father.
Jonah
From the Hebrew name יוֹנָה (Yonah) meaning "dove". This was the name of a prophet swallowed by a fish, as told in the Old Testament Book of Jonah. He emerged from the fish alive three days later.
The holy spirit is shown as a dove in the Bible. Jonah is the gentlest of all my kids, like a dove. There is a funny story about when Jonah was born. I didn't know what sex he was, but had only picked out the name Jonah. I went into labor with him on a Saturday, labored all day and then stopped. After 3 days I went back into labor and Jonah was born. Coincidence?
So, friends, here is my question to you: Do you think that we become our names, or does God guide us to the name that our child is? Tell me what you think.
Take my name, Gina (a diminutive form of Regina), for example:
Late Latin name meaning "queen". It was in use as a Christian name from early times, and was borne by a 2nd-century saint.
In a conversation with one of my sisters about this topic, she laughed when she heard the meaning of my name. Why? Because she says it suits me perfectly. I don't know if my parents knew the meaning of my name when they gave it to me or not, but I have heard over and over that it matches up to my personality quite well. (I hope just the good aspects of being a queen, nothing proceeded by "Drama" or "Drag" or the like.)
When I named my own children I picked names that I liked that had meanings I could live with. You know, nothing like Jabez, or Delilia, or Jezabel. What surprises me, it how much each of my children suit their names- or the other way around. Check it out:
Jesse
From the Hebrew name יִשַׁי (Yishay) which possibly meant "gift". Jesse was the father of King David in the Old Testament.
Jesse was a gift that I didn't deserve. He is a perfect example of how God can take our sin and turn it into something beautiful that we don't deserve.
Caleb
Means "dog" in Hebrew. In the Old Testament this was the name of one of the twelve spies sent by Moses into Israel. Of the Israelites who left Egypt with Moses, Caleb and Joshua were the only ones who lived to see the promised land.
Caleb is faithful. He is loyal to a fault. He is a faithful companion and a whole hearted servant. Where Jesse has all the "big ideas," Caleb is the one to see them through.
Elizabeth
From the Hebrew name אֱלִישֶׁבַע ('Elisheva') meaning "my God is an oath" or perhaps "my God is abundance". It appears in the New Testament where Elizabeth is the mother of John the Baptist.
If Elizabeth ever doubts what I say, I can show her where it comes from in the bible and that is the end of the discussion. If God said it, then it is good enough for Elizabeth.
Abigial
From the Hebrew name אֲבִיגָיִל ('Avigayil) meaning "my father is joy". In the Old Testament this was the name of Nabal's wife. After Nabal's death she became the wife of King David.
Abigail is the light of her Heavenly Father reflected as joy. She is also the delight of her earthly father.
Jonah
From the Hebrew name יוֹנָה (Yonah) meaning "dove". This was the name of a prophet swallowed by a fish, as told in the Old Testament Book of Jonah. He emerged from the fish alive three days later.
The holy spirit is shown as a dove in the Bible. Jonah is the gentlest of all my kids, like a dove. There is a funny story about when Jonah was born. I didn't know what sex he was, but had only picked out the name Jonah. I went into labor with him on a Saturday, labored all day and then stopped. After 3 days I went back into labor and Jonah was born. Coincidence?
So, friends, here is my question to you: Do you think that we become our names, or does God guide us to the name that our child is? Tell me what you think.
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