Twenty-Four years ago I added an “n” to my name. It was a whim, but I’ve never regretted it.
Fifteen years before that I had removed the same “n” along with a “y” when I went from being Denny to being Den. And for fifteen years I had people correct my name, helpfully changing it from Den to Don or Dan and then I would have to explain that it was neither, that is was Den. And when they looked at me quizzically I would say “you know, the place where a bear lives.” (Which is what my Great Grandmother told me.)
And I finally figured out a solution, someone had asked me what Den was short for and I told them, Dennison. To which they asked “then why doesn’t it have two “n”s? Good question. So, I added an “n” to my name.
The first time I officially used the new spelling was for my new library card which arrived in the mail the next week, addressed to Dean Guptill. And again, I discovered that people see what they want to see and hear what they want to hear.
But regardless of how I spell my name, I can always be assured that God knows who I am. Have a great week and remember: To see what is really possible, you will have to attempt the impossible.