My name means?

I did a search for the origins and meanings of my three legal names as well as my life long nickname still used by family and old friends alike.

My last name is the simplest–it simply means Son of Fergus and is a name with a Celtic/Gaelic background.

Leslie means joy and has an English background.

Eugene–go ahead and laugh–means well born and is also a name with an English origin.

I’d like to believe that my birth brought joy to my parents. I’d like to think my life has brought more joy than sorrow to those whom I love and have been loved by in return. Better yet, I’d like to think being well born means that I was born into a family of dignity and honor.

Physically speaking, my names are interesting and meaningful. However, their real meaning becomes more self-evident when considered alongside my spiritual birth.

Joy. Well born. Son of. My real legacy is in Christ.

As far as my nickname is concerned, Butch is an American creation and supposedly means manly. I must admit, there are not many days of late when I feel like a man’s man. But once again, the real meaning of my nickname is best seen in the spiritual realm–I’ll only be a real man as I become a man in Christ!

What’s your name mean?

Blessings!

Les, Jr.

I wish

 Mark 9:14-24, (NIV) When they came to the other disciples, they saw a large crowd around them and the teachers of the law arguing with them. As soon as all the people saw Jesus, they were overwhelmed with wonder and ran to greet him.

 "What are you arguing with them about?" he asked. A man in the crowd answered, "Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid. I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not."

"O unbelieving generation," Jesus replied, "how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me." So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.

Jesus asked the boy’s father, "How long has he been like this?" "From childhood," he answered. "It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us."

" ‘If you can’?" said Jesus. "Everything is possible for him who believes."

 Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"

After days away–a week at church camp with 90 kids among other things–I find myself staring at a blank blog page.

And so I wish.

I wish for something profound to say. Something pithy and stimulating. Something that would make you set up, take notice, and maybe even take stock of your life.

But at this moment, the well is dry.

Emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, I have struggled of late. The burdens of others piled on top of my own worries, fears, and even desires seem to be a humongous dead weight pushing and pulling me down.

Poor, pitiful me.

Not really.

This is the time and place where faith has to step up to the plate. This is where faith has to be less of an intellectual idea and more of an ultimate reality. This is where we–at least me–identifies with the the father in the story above.

"Lord make me your servant in all that I do. Don’t allow me to wither on the vine of uncertainty and indecision. Help me to know a life of faith–an existence of actions that say with finality that my trust is in you and you alone. I do believe Lord. Help me now in my unbelief to grow a faith stronger than before. Amen!"