Where’s your name – part 2.

Quite some time ago at work when I was manning the phone lines, I recall answering one particular call:
“Hello, National Statistics; Andrew Carey speaking.” [it was my standard greeting].
“Hi,” said the guy on the other end of the line. “I wonder if you can help me with the form you have sent me to…” His voice trailed off all of a sudden. “What was your name again?”
“Andrew Carey.” I replied thinking that he was just checking to see if I was one of the contacts listed on the form he had in front of him.
“But that’s me. My name’s Andrew Carey.”

He was quite taken back because I was the first Andrew Carey that he had ever come across. I however have come across a few more. For example, there is an Andy Carey who must live near by somewhere since he runs a local rambling group and organises walks up Twm Barlwm. I discovered him when I was given a leaflet with all this information on (also the of the photo from the children’s event called the ‘Teddy Bears picnic’, which was advertised on the reverse of the leaflet, was more alarming than anything you may have seen in the ‘Blair Witch Project’!!!).
I came across another of my name-sakes when I was doing some filming at the Welshpool narrow gauge railway. I turned up to the first stationed, weighed down with heavy camera equipment, only to be confronted by a huge sign that said: ‘Your station master today is: Andrew Carey.’ I initially panicked thinking that there was no possible way in which I could complete my filming and run a railway station. When I raised my concerns with one of the conductors he explained that I was not that Andrew Carey. I later met the little bearded man who shared my name and I realised that we were definitely not the same person.

There is another place too where my name appears, a location more exciting than you can possibly imagine; can you imagine meeting someone by chance and as you greeted them with a firm handshake you suddenly noticed that your name was written on the back of their hand. How weird would that be!?
Well imagine the first time you actually meet God face-to-face [in Heaven]. You’re stunned by the holiness of His royal splendour. You hardly know what to do but you remember seeing people kiss the hands of kings and the like and you instinctively think this is suitable. As God extends His hand (in awe you have not yet dared look up at His face, and so you have yet to notice His beaming smile, almost breaking into a laugh of delight and joy) you notice something written on it. It suddenly captivates you because it seems somehow familiar. You begin to recognise it; surely your eyes must be playing tricks on you, but no. On the back of God’s hand is your name; lovingly written in astonishing detail. You have never seen your name look so beautiful. How is your name on God’s hand?
“Look, I've written your names on the backs of My hands.” Is 49:16 (Msg)
You look up and the expression on God’s face gives away why your name is there, because you are loved; completely loved.

Its fantastic being a Christian isn’t it!