I want to share with you a strange testimony about how God led me to reflect on my view of the world and all that is happening in it.
Before the birth of Schalkie, our firstborn son, in 2024, I found myself wondering whether it was a good time for anyone to have children. Not for economic reasons, but because of the state of the world itself. Less than two years later, as we awaited the birth of our daughter, I was asking the same question again. Only now, things seemed worse than they had in 2024, and the uncertainty about whether we should have chosen to have another child felt heavier. The world feels unpredictable and volatile. At times, it almost seems irresponsible to bring children into it. At least if we look at the world and its conflicts without taking God into account.
About a month ago, I was speaking to a friend who had recently welcomed a daughter of his own. She was about two months old. We found ourselves talking about children’s names, which felt especially relevant, as Katy and I had not yet chosen a name for our daughter, who was due early this year. For my friend, it was important to know where a name came from. What lay behind it? Did it carry meaning? Did it tell a story? Did it carry weight, especially in a religious sense? For me, that had never mattered much. I always believed that a name does not make you. Whether your name is Judas or Adolf does not determine the path you will take or who you will become. Still, I could see that for him, there was value in the meaning behind a name. Some time later, Katy and I were still trying to choose a name. We had considered many options, but none of them gained much traction. Then my thoughts turned to one of my favourite books, The Children of Húrin by J.R.R. Tolkien. Húrin has two daughters in the story: Lalaith and Niënor. Lalaith means “laughter” in Sindarin, the elvish language Tolkien created, and Niënor means “mourning.”
They are both beautiful sounding names, each carrying a distinct meaning. I found myself drawn to the idea of using one of them. Katy was open to this, but she suggested pairing it with the name Ella-May. Ella-May, a name that speaks of life, renewal, and growth.
As we sat with that name, I realised that Ella-May was more than just something that sounded nice. Ella, which is also Katy’s second name, is often linked to Elizabeth, with its confession that God is my oath. It points to a life grounded not in human certainty, but in God’s faithfulness. The name is also associated, through older roots, with light, quietly naming trust in a God who remains present even when the world feels dark.
May carries its own richness. It is connected to Mary, whose life shows us what it means to receive God’s promise without fully understanding where it will lead. It also echoes the month of May, which in the Northern Hemisphere speaks of renewal, growth, and life returning after winter. Beyond its symbolic meaning, May is deeply personal for us. It is the name of Katy’s twin sister, and the second name of both Katy and my mother. In this way, it honours not only new life, but the family God has already placed around us to help carry it.
Only a month earlier, I had not cared much about the meaning or story behind a name. Now, I found myself drawn to Ella-May precisely because of the story and the confession it carries. But what should we add to it? Laughter or mourning? Lalaith or Niënor? Laughter seemed like the obvious choice. A name that speaks of joy, of a little one bringing light and happiness wherever she goes. It would fit perfectly with Ella-May’s themes of life and renewal. But Lalaith felt like it would only tell half the story, the story we hoped for, but not the story we were actually living. It would ignore the fear I had been carrying, the mourning happening around us, and the uncertainty that kept me awake at night, wondering whether we had made the right choice. Niënor, on the other hand, felt true. Even with its dark meaning. Especially with its dark meaning.
Then I saw it. When we place Ella-May and Niënor together, the name begins to speak. It names the tension I had been struggling with for months. I had been looking at the world and its future without fully taking God into account. But in this name, mourning does not stand alone or have the final word. Alongside it stands life, growth, and renewal. Mourning is real but it is not ultimate. It is something God carries us through as He brings new life, even in difficult seasons.
I cannot say whether the name of my daughter will influence the path she takes in life. But through the process of naming her, God opened my eyes again to the truth her name proclaims. She was born in a time when many around the world are mourning, mourning war, loss, and the harshness of life. Yet she is our reminder that God brings life, and that His promise of new life endures.
Pastor Schalk Treurnicht
