Call Me Jesus

Call Me Jesus

I am the Messiah, but only in certain circles. No, I’m not the leader of a cult. I’m just a woman whose nickname is Jesús. My real name is Suzie, and my friends often say, “Hey Suz” when they see me. Say that out loud, and you’ll hear that “Hey Suz” sounds remarkably like the Spanish pronunciation of Jesus! Even Siri gets it! When my friends say, “Hey Suz,” at the start of a text, it translates to me as something like, “Jesus, are we still on for coffee at 9:00 am?” I reply, “Yes, after I walk on water and cure a few blind folks, I’ll see you at Starbucks.”

My friend, Christina, is also the Messiah. I discovered this because my smartphone can only fit six letters of a contact’s name onto the screen. Her name spells Christ. The first time this happened, I went into a frenzy thinking the Lord called, and I didn’t answer! I immediately scrolled to voicemail, but there was nothing, just the missed call of a lifetime! Everybody wants to talk to God and ask important questions like, “Why am I here?, What did you do with Grandma? And, will I ever win the lottery?” 

Names are a big deal! I’m surprised I was so complacent about naming my own children. At least our family puts a lot of thought into choosing the ones for our pets. 

When we got some goldfish, the names Bob, Fred, Carl, and Norm won by popular vote in our family election. Sadly, we’ve had burials for three of the boys via the tidy bowl in our bathroom. Somehow, we’ve managed to keep one alive. Much to our chagrin, we’re unsure if it’s Bob, Fred, Carl, or Norm. We’ve renamed him Savior. 

Then there’s our Pembroke Welsh Corgi. She suffers from allergies, so our veterinarian sent a prescription to our local pharmacy. When it was ready, the loudspeaker called out, “Ms. Waggles McFlufflybutt, your medicine is available for pickup.” I could hear laughter coming from the adjacent aisles as I made my way to meet with the pharmacist. That’s when he loudly discussed the medication’s side effects, such as foaming at the mouth, fishy breath, and flatulence. By this time, nobody standing behind me knew I was picking up a prescription for a dog! 

I don’t especially care for my own name. So, when I entered the corporate world, it was the perfect time to go by my birth name. After all, Suzanne sounds more professional than Suzie. I soon discovered it’s easy to forget a new version of yourself. At the luncheon on the first day, my boss stood to introduce me, and I just sat there eating my salami sandwich. One coworker thought I was deaf. I’m pretty sure the rest just thought I was dumb.  

Finally, there are the names our weather folks attach to hurricanes that hit our coastlines every year. Are there any named Suzie? No, as confirmed by Google. This is because if storms could speak, one called Suzie would say, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry I blew over your umbrella stand.” But a powerful name like Carmen, now that packs a punch. I hear her saying, “Sorry, not sorry, that I blew your house to smithereens. Don’t worry; I’m sure Jake from State Farm will show up wearing khakis and cover the cost of repairs.”

There’s no doubt that Carmen is an ass-kicker name. And I accept that I’m a sophomoric and subdued woman named Suzie. Besides, Jesús is far superior to any name out there! Carmen’s got nothing on that.

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