Names, Usernames and Passwords


At the risk of sounding old, I’m going to admit that I long for the day when life was not bound by usernames, passwords, updates and settings. It seems that every time I turn around I’m being asked for a username or password. Usually both.

Banking? Usernames and passwords are a must.

Medical matters? A username and password are required if I want to know test results without waiting an eternity for my doctor to call.

Email accounts? I have five. Every single one has a different variation of my name and a different password.

Like most people, I have one basic username and one basic password. But according to the cyber safety people, I need to vary my password so I comply. And many accounts require that my password contain specific types of characters. So unless it’s an account that I use daily, my heart rate increases when I see a login box. Do I need the username with a lowercase “d” or one of my other usernames? Does this account need my basic password or is it one that requires the password with an assortment of letters, numbers and random characters following an uppercase “D”? Or is it lowercase? I get three tries before I’m locked out. Cue the stress.

And now my dentist wants me to set up an account so that I can communicate with his office via email and text. But I don’t want another username and password to remember. I just want my teeth cleaned!

Life seemed simpler—and more personal—before technology took over the world. But, to be fair, I’ve always had trouble with my name. When I graduated from high school, the assistant principal called me “Diana” as I received my diploma. When I graduated from college, the provost pronounced my name “DEEN-uh.” I had to earn a graduate degree before my name was pronounced correctly. (It’s Dee-ANN-nuh, in case you’re wondering.)

Even church members stumbled over my name. In the six churches my husband and I served over a span of 30 years, I was called everything from Diana to Debbie to Donna to Deana. At least they got the “D” part right. Except for those folks who gave up and called me Ms. Preacher. Others, though—those who knew me best—got it right.

One of these days, I’m going to arrive at the gates of heaven. I won’t be asked for my username because my name is already written down in the divine registry (Rev. 21:27). And I have no doubt that the pronunciation will be perfect because Jesus, the One who knows me best, will call me by name (John 10:3).

If I don’t have to have a username when I get to heaven, I won’t need to provide a secret word either. Jesus already took care of that on the cross. My password, if it can be called that, is not a word at all. It is a relationship. I know Jesus. Jesus knows me. I love Him. He loves me. It’s just that simple. And personal.

As you walk through this day, find strength in the knowledge that Jesus knows your name. He knows your every thought. He sees each tear that falls, and He hears you when you call. (Thank you, Paul Baloche, for the beautiful lyrics.)

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