Hello, Bridgetown, and you all joining us online, Bethany Allen here with the Bridgetown

Daily for Tuesday, May 12.

This week I had a memory come back to me from when I was in second grade.

As a fun activity one week, we spent an afternoon after recess researching what our names meant.

I went to a small private Christian school, so these kind of things were very much par for

the course.

And I remember looking forward to discovering what my name meant, hoping like everyone

else that it would reflect some beautiful aspect of who I was.

Our teacher gave us our name, meaning one by one.

First up was Jessica, which means gift or God beholds, which is pretty good, I'd say.

And then Adam, which means man, and I remember he felt really good about that.

And then Angela, which means messenger of God, which of course is great too.

And then it was finally my turn.

I was so excited as the teacher declared Bethany, your name means.

And then she said it, house of the poor house of the poor.

I literally burst into tears right there.

Redhead sometimes can bust this way.

I don't know if you know that, but it's true.

I thought how could my parents have done this to me?

What kind of name was that?

I remember I went home later that day and told my dad that I was so sad that he had named

me something that meant house of the poor.

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