Hearing mama call me using my first and middle name clearly communicated her serious intent, a matter of importance was forthcoming. Every child knows at such a time, the only response is haste and attention.
The name, my name, came to me by way of Grandma Great, a woman of faith and grace, so her legacy is told. Her name is recorded on the family tree, in the ninth generation of faithful people dating back to one of the Norway's early Bishops.
Our name, Grandmother's and mine, is a derivative of "Elizabeth", meaning consecrated to God, or God is my oath. On the occasion of first learning this fact it simply made sense, being aware of an abiding presence of faith within my heart from an early age. It felt true. I claimed the legacy.
Knowing and honoring family heritage is not common for many, perhaps not even helpful for some. For myself, I have considered it a tremendous blessing, a source of heritage and strength gained from generations that formed my identity.
Honor [esteem, value as precious] your father and your mother [and be respectful to them]—this is the first commandment with a promise— so that it may be well with you, and that you may have a long life on the earth.