Almost Named Grace

I was almost named Grace. In fact, my father announced my birth to distant family through the hospital pay phone as ‘Frances Grace’ only to read ‘Frances Marianne’ on the birth certificate.

As the story goes, it was a classic case of mistaken identity; my mom apparently had a meaningful conversation about the name change with the anesthesiologist in the delivery room when she thought she was speaking to my father.

As a child, I was glad for the near miss. The name Grace even as a middle name seemed too much like an old lady to me. And I liked Marianne since my grandmothers were named Mary and Ann. Close call to be almost named Grace.

Grace has grown on me. While I still love the name Marianne, I don’t have the aversion to Grace that I once did. Perhaps, that’s because grace as a concept has grown on me too: the notion of God’s abundant outpouring of love freely given to us – to me.

In a way, grace is something that I have always journeyed toward. So maybe it’s just the way it needed to be that I wasn’t named Grace. Now I find grace in so many almosts of life, and can see it was there for me all along.