Every Sunday night before church, Trey and I stop there for a little snack.
Every Sunday night (much to Treys amusement) we go through the same routine.
We give the clerk our order and she asks for a name so they can call us when it is ready.
I say “Michael”…and she says “Mike”.
The first week I corrected her…”no, my name is Michael.”
The order was ready…”order for Mike”, they called.
The next week, the same routine with the clerk…but this time I lectured her.
“When a customer gives you their name, don’t change their name.!”
The order came…”order for Mike”, they called.
Trey experienced much glee at my discomfiture.
The third week I corrected her yet again…and she glowered at me and took the order.
“Order for mikHELL”, they called.
Trey was on the floor…I wanted to “run for the border”.
Last week, we gave our order and the clerk sullenly accepted both our order and my name.
“Order for # 186” they called…
Taco Bell flat refuses to accept who I really am.
Such is the nature of the world.
It will name you, then change the name at will.
Early last Friday I was “employed”, a “manager” with all the accepted meanings behind those names.
This Friday, I’m “unemployed”, another statistic with all the meanings that come with that term.
There is a place, however, where my name…my identity…never changes.
A place where I’m called;
Someday, they’ll call my name from there…and it will be “Michael”.
They know who I am.
Make your own application…