What I actually had was over a year of praying through countless names, trying to find one that would not only honor God, but resonate with my audience (..and also be one that I liked too).

All of that brainstorming (+ a couple more pages), and none of them were right.

It wasn’t until late one summer evening, when I was drowning in the overwhelming sense of failure, that it came to me.

It was sometime after 11 p.m., and I was standing at the end of a pier. The world was a dark, dark grey, not only because of the hour but also because the sky was full of storm clouds. The rain was steady but not torrential; tears were slipping down my cheeks, but I was sniveling them away bravely to not disturb the couple making out fifty feet beneath me in the sand.

Then it hit me how terribly dramatic I was being.

“Wretch,” I muttered as I turned to leave — and stopped when I heard the word come out of my mouth.

Wretch. The word struck a chord within me, like the slow reverb of the lowest bass string on a guitar; there was this strong sense that it would resonate with other struggling, searching souls too.

Wretch. A word that didn’t shy away from acknowledging the heavy crosses we’re asked to carry through this lifetime, without stapling a superficial “good vibes only” sign over the wood.

The word “wretch” in and of itself, though, was a bit dismal. Though I see the world through a darker lens, I am also a believer in the Good News, which means there must be hope amidst the suffering.

But, how is a wretch supposed to find that hope, let alone hold onto it?

John 14:6 — by following the Way, the Truth, and the Life: Jesus Christ.

He is our hope; our salvation. He is our Way, especially for the “how could anyone forgive this,” “God doesn’t want to hear from me,” “it’s too late for me to be a Christian” wretches out there.

…like you and me.

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