My name is Shemaiah. The name is found in the Old Testament, a Hebrew name, a name of a prophet, a man of God. Yet I am a woman.
My parents named me Shemaiah after a little girl they once knew. She had rescued her mother from a cult and addiction, just by being born. Her presence reminded her mother of the truth. She reminded her mother that God is patient, kind, and loving. Her name meant, “God hears”.
My parents wanted me to remember, when life became difficult or the road weary, that God hears.
There have been times that I forget that God is there. That He is watching me, protecting me, loving me.
Then someone asks me my name.
My parents wanted me to remember, when life became difficult or the road weary, that God hears.
They are always caught off guard when they hear it. They ask me to pronounce it again. They ask me where it comes from. Sometimes I tell them that it is Hebrew. Sometimes I help them pronounce it –“Rhymes with papaya!” Sometimes I’m dismissive and say “Oh you know hippie parents”. Rarely do I share the real story.
It’s too much to share in passing when they really just want to fill out a form or make your latte.
But it reminds me. Reminds me that God is listening. He cares. He is there.
God hears.
Because of this, I have hope.
Shemaiah Gonzalez is a freelance writer who holds a B.A. in English Literature and M.A. in Intercultural Ministry. She thrives on moments where storytelling, art, and faith collide. A Los Angeles native, she now lives in Seattle with her husband and their two sons. www.shemaiahgonzalez.com
