If you’ve heard differently before, you were misinformed. Or, more correctly I was mislead and misdirected into giving a false name when I had my oil changed at Midas. I have no idea why someone would want me to give a false name, however at the time I did what I was told because I believed it to be important.
Why anyone in the world would want me to be anything other than myself can only be a reflection upon the poor character of the other person. To not allow someone to be the greatest version of themselves is a sin, a crying shame, a disgrace, and shallow.
My parents named me Cherith after the brook in the bible. In the King James version 1Kings 17:3 …Elijah sat by the brook Cherith and the ravens fed him. See King Ahab was set to destroy all the prophets. Elijah believed he was the last prophet left – cutting the story short because you can read the bible yourself – God provided a safe place for Elijah to be hidden from the King.
It is significant in the story for ravens to feed Elijah. For so many reasons it could be a topic of much debate, speculation, and introspection. Perhaps for another time – way down the line, I might write about that.
My name is a geographical location, it is historical, it is an event. My name means deep ravine by its definition. It is water. Also, by the nature of the story my name is a safe place to hide and to be protected from.
Eventually the brook dried up and Elijah moved from the brook Cherith, and found a poor widow and asked for bread. The widow explained to Elijah how she only had enough provisions for one more loaf – it was the very last bit of food she had left. Elijah said make the bread and you will still have oil and flour. The widow did not believe Elijah, yet she made the bread anyway.
She still had flour and oil in her jar.
So, back to Cherith, me.
My parents named me Cherith, in the hospital, after reading it in the bible. They probably believed they had stumbled unto a unique name, however days after naming me my father found a missionary tract. On the back was a blurb about the missionary Cherith Til who happened to be a missionary in South Africa which is where my father was born and raised until the age of sixteen when he went to school in Chicago.
The connection – to me – is significant. Impossibly interwoven is how I see it.
Also, let me share this – my brother and I have the exact same initials. My brother’s name in a town in Northern Ireland. His name is also a geographical location. My maternal great grandparents were from Ireland until they emigrated to Canada.
I love Ireland. One day I am going to live there – at least for a while.
I loved my grandfather, he was the greatest male role model I had. My grandfather had the Irish charisma and charm. He could do anything. He owned a barbershop, a pool hall, he had a pilot’s license, he drove a taxi, he drove a bus for disabled children. He never failed to greet me with a smile. As a child, he would pick me up and take his teeth out because it made me laugh.
I have found that Cherith – the name – has been used to name churches, camps, and people.
Hi, nice to meet you.
WE - DO NOT AGREE! 