“What’s your name?”

Less of a question, more of a mirror.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

Rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?

In a sea full of people, you’re spotted for one quality or another. It could be the way you look, the way you carry yourself, or the energy (or lack thereof) you might possess in that given moment. Just like clockwork, you’re spotted, and this oh-so-common question is flung in your direction, whether you’re prepared for it or not.

Ever since I was little, I was taught to answer that question almost like you would in an elevator pitch. Back in English Composition class, a class that unknowingly shaped my love for words, we once had to write an essay titled “Myself.” If memory served me correctly, this essay was the key to opening the floodgates of other essay-related assignments. And the goal with this was simple: write down everything about you. Your name, age, where you come from, where you stay, your family, all the things. Just write about you. And of course, with a self-driven exposé donning the mask of homework, the first question was your name.

I remember writing mine clearly: “My name is Ernest Aboagye-Mensah. I am so-and-so years old. I was born and raised in Ghana, one of four siblings. My parents are Frank and Mercy. My favorite meal is jollof rice. I love reading storybooks, watching Power Rangers, and staying up late to watch movies. When I grow up, I want to buy my mom her dream home and end world hunger. I love people because I have a big heart. I’m going to be the greatest person ever, and change the world.”

In such a small way for a small boy at that time, I was being trained to see this question had less to do with my name and more to do with….. my essence, my nature, my identity, and what makes me ME.

I started thinking about my own name more critically : Ernest. My mom tells me it means noble. Google tells me it means serious, vigorous, or determined. I’d read the Bible and see people “earnestly” pray (I use the KJV most times), so I immediately knew there was a level of severity when it came to my name. In my younger, more innocent years with big aspirations and the most outlandish prospects, I was optimistic, ambitious, and determined for greatness, whatever that looked like. But that was a sign that for the meaning of my name, the outside world mattered most to me, and the so called nobility shrunk all the more.

And thus was born the formation of some harsh realities.

All too soon, I started realizing that the “What’s your name?” question aged as rapidly as I did. Suddenly nobody cared about the color of my eyes, the shade of dark my hair was, my family, my hobbies, interests, likes, and dislikes. The tone shifted. It became more serious. The follow-up questions became a lot more concise. “What job do you do? What’s your 5-year plan? Where do you see yourself at X stage and Y stage of your life?”

The question morphed into something else. Still about me, not out of curiosity, but inquiry.

So imagine the shock on my face when I took such a outward, fast-paced question and brought it into the slow and relatively calm reality of my existence one rainy night, in the darkness of my bedroom and the solitude of my own thoughts, and the answers were far beyond what I was expecting.

“My name is Ernest, and I was a screw-up.”

“Hi. I’m Ernest, and I would never amount to anything.”

“Oh, hey there, I’m Ernest, and I was unworthy of anything good.”

In that moment and at that hour, I thought the metamorphosis of this question had stopped. I thought the inquisitive nature of a simple “What’s your name?” ceased at my current disposition.

But in that dark room, on that day, the period smudged off the page just a little bit, bleeding into years of ellipses. That’s where the unceasing cacophony in my mind began. That’s where the world I knew tilted a little bit on its axis.

That’s where growing up became real to me.

There’s a text in the Bible, in James chapter 1, that talks about a doubting man and how he’s likened to a man driven and tossed by the wind. On that day, in that room, I was stranded in the middle of the sea with no lifeline and no help. Unstable in my mind, unstable in my being, unstable in all my ways. And I’ve been swept away by the wind more times than I can recollect.

I knew my name, yet life gave me other names that, unbeknownst to me, had started forming me.

A part of me wonders how I’d answer such a question now, in this moment of my life. I think it would go something like this:

“Hi, my name is Ernest. I’m in my late 20s, and I’m a wreck. The lines on my forehead outnumber the ones on my smile. My mind’s been my biggest enemy for twenty years: impulsive thoughts, anxiety, overthinking, and depression. I’ve done things I regret deeply, to myself and to others. I’ve been bullied, bruised, and broken. My siblings are like bright constellations, and I’m Pluto: orbiting alone, unseen. I crave genuine friendships, I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I feel deeply, but I’m told real men shouldn’t want that. I’m scared to ask for help, scared to be vulnerable, so I smile and pretend I’m fine while I drown inside. My lusts weaken me, my mind fights me, and my soul feels crushed daily. I’ve told myself every hurtful thing others could ever say, and I’ve called myself every hurtful thing you could possibly imagine. I fear I’ll die alone because I’m too complex to love platonically or romantically. The lows outnumber the highs in my life, and hopelessness is a grave I’ve dug myself into, with no prospects of getting out.

That’s who I think I am. That’s what I carry every day.”

That was my name. That was me. That was what I dealt with every day. It was nonstop, and it never went away.

Except when it did.

Here’s where the hope I was craving slowly entered the story. I started taking my walk with God seriously. When I say God, I do not mean the vague “sky daddy” people thank in award speeches or associate with crystals and energies, but Jesus Christ. The King of Kings, the One who lived and died for you and me.

I wish I could say that once I found Jesus, all the dark thoughts and life patterns disappeared. They didn’t, and I’d be lying to you if I said they did. If anything, it got harder. Life started sinking its jaws deeper into me, and I was limp and lifeless under its sharply fanged clutches. But now I have two choices: drink from the cup that tells me I’m worthless, or drink from the cup that knows me completely, broken and downcast, yet still calls me holy, righteous, deserving, powerful, and loved.

That’s what living earnestly means to me. It’s living honestly. Living completely you. Not by searching horoscopes or chasing validation, but by fixing your eyes on Jesus. bringing Him your whole, messy, unfiltered life. Because Jesus knows your name. You just have to be brave enough to let Him show you who you really are.

That’s why this little corner of the internet exists: to be brutally honest about the imperfect, chaotic, healing process of life and to bring it all to the feet of Jesus. That’s what living earnestly means to me.

Living fully, living wholly, living holy.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Truly. I don’t know how far this Sub stack will go, but if even one person can see Jesus through the chaos of my story, it’ll be worth it. So thank you for being here, and thank you for daring to live earnestly with me.

I see you. I’m with you. I’m for you.

And before you leave, I have one last question: What’s your name? What did it used to mean, and what does it mean now?