At Least It Was Empty

I just smashed my favorite tea mug to smithereens.  It was made by a quirky little potter who took my face in her hands and told me I must never apologize for my name — something I have been doing for as long as I can remember.  I was called by two names or by a version of my middle name, and that confuses people.  I have — honestly, now — had people get angry.

“Lisa? From Elizabeth? I don’t get that!!Beth, Betsy, Liz, those I’ve heard, but Lisa?!?!”

I am most comfortable being Lisa, but it’s not really my name.  I don’t mind Mary Lisa. Mary has never felt like me at all.

Quirky little potter lady told me my name was beautiful and chosen for me alone.  She told me that God knew my name and I was as beautiful to Him as the Mona Lisa was to the world.  She said Mona Lisa had sort of an off name too. Actually I think, it means Madam Lisa or Mrs. Lisa, but I wasn’t going to bring that up at that moment.

My mug was just a thing.  Thing’s get broken.  For the most part they can be replaced . . . but it made me sad.

It was the kind of day that makes you wonder why you got up.  I’m pretty sure I need to take to my bed now.

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