For a long time, this blog has just been a thought in my head — or I suppose a series of writings on my computer just waiting to burst out of their offline shells.
But for over 3 years, this has been a place where I can present to you my firsthand and secondhand experiences of the reality we get to share in experiencing.
It will continue to be a place where I hope to challenge you to think differently,
and empower you to be transformed habitually.
And if we live this life with brevity and conviction,
then when we also burst out of our shells,
our lives might just prove to be something of value.
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 since it’s me, there absolutely must be a pun involved.
Daughter
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.)
Like you, I am a product of what God has placed around me in order to refine me, with a dollop of control called free will. In that way, I am a human soul, a grain of sand, but what you see of me is shaped by whatever is around me that I allow to stick to me.
The circumstances in which I was born and raised arose largely beyond my control. But given God’s power within me, I have the ability to react to those circumstances in a way that reflects not who people want me to be, but that aligns itself with who I really am.
The word “daughter” inherently connotes being in a family. I don’t exist independently, as so many women pretend they can 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 gonna be all Paris Hilton about it. I’m gonna 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.
of
It’s a preposition. Look it up.
…Wait, there is one thing I want to say about it.
It’s not “of” as in “belonging to.”
It’s “of” as in “made of.”
What are you made of?
Pearl
As the founder of this blog, its name has an inherent connection to my own name. The name “Megan” means “pearl” in Greek, Irish, and/or Welsh (my sources could not decide). I’ll take it. But my favorite part is telling you why I think pearls are so cool.
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.
A pearl is just glorified 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?
