Hello, readers!  For a long time, this blog has just been a thought in my head – or I suppose a series of writings one my computer just waiting to burst out of their Microsoft Word shells. 

Wow!  It’s already so different writing for an audience of more than one.  But it would be rude to jump into a post already without introducing you to the Daughter of Pearl.

About the Name

I originally snatched the name from the phrase “mother of pearl,” which describes the pearlescent inside of a clam shell. But that’s the pun part of the name. And it’s me – so there absolutely must be a pun involved.

Pearl?

The name also has an inherent connection to my own name. The name “Megan” means “pearl” in Greek, Irish, and/or Welsh (my sources could not decide). But I’ll take it. Since this blog flows out of, well, me – my beliefs, passions, experiences, and thoughts – I consider it in part a virtual projection of myself.

Besides being the meaning of my name, a “pearl” represents who I am metaphorically. As a Christian, I have many beliefs about my identity that I hope you will learn as your follow my blog. But the Christian life at its core is a story of a life transformed, transformed from nothing into something of eternal worth.

A pearl begins as a single grain of sand, cherished gently for what seems like forever until it is refined into something beautiful. The beauty does not belong to that grain of sand, but the grain’s imperfections are covered. Because the pearl is the work of the clam and not of the grain of sand itself, that grain does not even have a right to criticize the clam’s work. And because of this undeserved transformation, the pearl can go on to adorn those who love it.

Daughter?

So whose daughter am I, I might ask rhetorically? Again, I have no claim to my own identity: God allowed all of the circumstances to happen exactly as He planned in order for me to become who I am. I don’t even deserve to exist, but I’m doing much more than existing. And instead of just being a slave of God since I owe my life to Him, God did something unthinkable for me: He loved me. This has been demonstrated in countless ways throughout my life, the most significant of which happened about two thousand years before my birth on a cross.

To me, Christianity is not a religion. This thing many call Christianity is in fact a religion that has been exploited as a political tool, a means of self-justification, or even a trap that keeps people from knowing the true God. What I call Christianity is something entirely different.

To be Christian means to be affiliated with this person we call Christ. It is to be with Christ, to be like Christ, and to be for Christ. It is a lifestyle. It is life itself. But first and foremost, it is a relationship to God who is not distant, but who knows me better than any of my friends, and even better than I know myself. This is a God who loves me, who would do anything for me, and whom I consider to be my Father.

Listen to this: “I will be a Father to you, and you will be sons and daughters to Me, says the Lord Almighty.” – 2 Corinthians 6:18

Do you know a God like that? Your own father may not have a perfect track record, and the idea of a family may even seem appalling to you. But my God is everything that a father ever could be. He supports, loves, and cherishes His children, even if they are hormonal teenagers. That’s right – God loves you and me no matter what we have done. He is not some invisible man in the sky with a lightning bolt, as I have heard argued in many a straw man fallacy. My Father loves me and wants to know me personally, not just support me financially or watch me suffer. He wants what is best for me, even if that means I don’t get to be a spoiled child.

Nature via Nurture

I am also a product of what God has placed around me in order to refine me. In that way, I am not just a pearl in myself, but the product or offspring of that and those around me which glorify God. My circumstances arose beyond my control, but given God’s grace, I react to those circumstances to become who I am. In the words of Malcolm Gladwell, nobody arises from nothing. (Personally, I also believe that nobody arises from primordial soup, but that’s a blog topic for a different day.)

The word “daughter” inherently connotes being in a family. I don’t exist independently, as so many women try to do in our culture, but instead I recognize that I was born into something. I have an inheritance, and I must take care of that wisely. Instead of trying to make a name for myself, I will adopt the name of Another as my own.

Being a daughter, I am an heiress of a calling that I don’t deserve. But I’m not going be all Paris Hilton about it. I am going to own it and take responsibility for it, upholding the reputation of the Father. I strive not to be ignorant, to listen to all possible sources of truth while still keeping in mind that I could never know Truth if Truth had not first known me.

Clam Slobber

I can describe myself as someone who was supposed to be nothing but became something because of a God who gave everything. A grain of sand who is only of any worth because of a little clam slobber I like to call grace.

And that is why I’m writing this blog. There are enough blogs out there to go around the moon and back and fill encyclopedias a million times or whatever, but I still think that this one can be of some value, just like me. So my hope is that the borrowed time, writing talents, and life that I invest into this blog will bless your life in a big way.

So what do you say? Will you lend your ear to this Pearl?