Nicknames…

My father had one of the greatest nicknames of all time: “King Kong.”  That lofty name was bestowed upon him in high school when he was an all-state lineman in football.  In later years, his nickname was shortened to “Kong.”  Still impressive.  No wonder he was such a good bull-rider.  When the rodeo announcer would say, “Kong Smith coming out of chute number two on a bull we call ‘Tango,’” the bull was already psyched out.  When my father died at forty-two, no one remembered his mother had named him “Horald.” 

Nicknames were common back then.  My father’s cousins and friends sported names like “Cooter,” “Shorty,” “Rabbit,” “Top,” “Stink,” and my all-time personal favorite, “Puke.”  I think “Puke” moved away from Wauchula just so he could be called by his regular name. 

My childhood nicknames were not as glamorous as my father’s.  I dragged my blanket around everywhere, so I was first tagged “Linus,” after the character in the comic strip “Peanuts.”  When I stopped dragging my blanket around (I stopped by high school), my cousin Donna Mae noticed my head was round like “Charlie Brown,” also a character in “Peanuts.”  To this day, when I see Donna Mae at home, she calls out, “Hey, Charlie Brown!”   

My first name is William, which I do not use.  Do you have any idea how many “William Smiths” there are in the world?  My Uncle Earl, however, used to call me “Willie,” sometimes “Willie-boy.”  His daughter, my cousin Kay, to this day, calls me “Willie.”  She is the only one allowed to do that.  If you call me “Willie,” I will not answer. My wife sometimes calls me “Sweetie,” which I like and will answer to, but only when she uses it.  Do not call me “Sweetie.” 

Southerners default to some nicknames.  I have a Barlow cousin named “Bubba.”  My mother went through life as “Sissie.”  Her brother was named Otis Odell, but everyone called him “Pete.”  Sure beats “Otis.”  Her younger brother was called “Bud.”  Her sister Billie Jean (this was before Michael Jackson) went by “Bill.”  People used to look at me funny when I told them I had an “Aunt Bill.”   

Even my dog has nicknames, which must confuse him.  His real name is Mulawi (my son named him after the third Caliphate), but we call him “Moo.”  It fits because he is as big as a cow.  But I also call him “Buddy” and a couple of other names I can not print when he tears into the trash. 

Even Jesus had nicknames.  His name means “God saves.”  But he is also called the “Christ,” which means “The one who is anointed.”  It is better understood to mean “The Chosen One.”  Jesus is also called the “Lamb of God,” because lambs were sacrificed for sin in the Temple.  Jesus is the one pure lamb of God, offered for the sins of the world.   

Jesus is also known as “Emmanuel,” which means “God with us.”  Not only was Jesus offered as a sacrifice of our sins, but he also lived among us to show us he understands our lives.  Unlike every other god, Jesus enters his creation to participate in life.   

Jesus is called “Lord,” which is both a term of respect and a name representing authority.  People called him “Master,” which meant they recognized he was in charge.  Occasionally he was called “Rabbi,” which means “teacher.”   

Jesus referred to himself as “The Son of Man,” which sounds confusing.  It is the same term used of an Old Testament prophet, Ezekiel.  Scholars debate, but I think Jesus called himself “Son of man” as a way to identify as a prophet and a human being all at the same time. 

John opens his gospel by calling Jesus “The Word.”  Jewish people understood God could speak, and things happened (think about when your daddy said, “Get out of bed.”  No further words were needed).  John knew Jesus was God’s ultimate word because he made things happen. 

Peter gives Jesus the ultimate nickname.  One day Jesus asked, “Who do people say I am?”  They told him the gossip: people thought Jesus was Elijah, or John the Baptist come back to life, or one of the prophets come back to life.  Jesus then asked, “Who do you say I am?”  Peter answered, “You are the Christ, the Son of God.”  Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon, son of Jonah!”  That is the nickname Jesus wants everyone to use because that name means you get who he really is.

There is one more nickname I have, one I treasure above all others: “Child of God.”  That nickname means my Heavenly Father knows my worst self, forgives me, and adopts me as his own.  That nickname means I do not have to adult my way through life.  My Heavenly Father is seeing me through, guiding me, taking care of me, assuring me of his love and grace. “Child of God” is more than a nickname; it is the arms of my Heavenly Father surrounding me.   

Son of Kong…

When I was a young man, I took my girlfriend at the time to the Silver Spurs Rodeo in Kissimmee, Florida.  Before Kissimmee became the home of Mickey Mouse’s empire, it was a cowtown.  The Silver Spurs is the most prestigious rodeo in Florida.  My father, my grandfather, and my Uncle Pete have all been the overall champion of the rodeo.

When I went to the rodeo that day, my father had been dead for thirty years.  A whole new generation of cowboys were roping calves, riding broncos and bulls, and wrestling steers.  For me, however, being in the arena brought out a wistful longing: I wish I could have seen my father rodeo. 

My father picked up the nick-name “King Kong” in high school.  It was about the time when the first “King Kong” movie came out in 1933.  Bigger than most of his football team mates, it was a natural nickname.  When he started rodeoing, most of his friends simply called him “Kong.” 

My uncle Pete was probably the best in the family as an all-around cowboy, but from the stories I’ve heard over the years, Daddy was at his best in steer wrestling and bull-riding.  Steer wrestling involves jumping from your galloping horse, grabbing a steer by the horns, and wrestling him to the ground.  Daddy set the record time in Florida of throwing a steer in 1.8 seconds.  The current world record is 2.4 seconds.  Daddy was in a class by himself.

Bull-riding means getting on the back of a bull in a tight chute, getting a firm grip and a far-away look, hollering to open the gate, and then staying on the back of the bull for eight seconds.  Judges score you on the difficulty of the ride.   If you think it sounds hard, you should try it (and no, bull-riding machines in country bars are no match for the real thing).  Maybe it was Daddy’s size, but he had a knack for staying on and scoring high.

My father died when I was eighteen months old, so I have no memories of him, just stories and pictures.  In the stands at the Silver Spurs Rodeo, I admit I felt again the old emptiness, wishing just I had seen him just once throwing a steer or riding a bull. 

Bull-riding is usually the last event in a rodeo, because it is the most exciting and most dangerous of rodeo events.  That day, three or four riders had come out of the chute and been thrown off in the first three seconds.  It looked like no cowboy would make his ride.

Keep in mind I am sitting with my girlfriend in the covered stands with about ten thousand people.  An old Florida cracker cowboy was seated next me, his wife on the other side of him.  I greeted him when I sat down, but he wasn’t much for conversation. 

After the fifth rider had been thrown off, this old Florida cracker cowboy turned to his wife and said, “Darlin’, a lot of these boys are pretty good, but nobody was ever as good as ol’ Kong Smith.”

My stomach did a flip.  I grabbed the man’s arm.  He pulled back as he turned to see who had a hold of him.  For a moment, I thought he was reaching for his gun (there was no concealed-carry law in those days).  We made eye contact and I blurted out, “Kong Smith was my daddy.”

The man went white as a sheet, almost like he had seen a ghost.  He gave me the once over, and then drawled, “From the looks of you son, you must be.  I’ll bet you’re the youngest.  I forgot your name.  You were just a yearling when your Daddy died.”

I wish I remembered the man’s name.  He told me about Daddy, about rodeoing with him, working cows with him, and having some high times together (he obviously didn’t want to go into details with his wife listening in). 

For that moment, the emptiness was filled.  I received another small piece of my father, another few stories to add to my soul.  That Florida cracker cowboy gave me a gift that day: he made me proud to be the son of the man I don’t remember.

The Apostle Paul talks about Jesus redeeming us so God the Father can adopt as sons.  To be adopted as the son or daughter of God means more than going to heaven; it means we can be proud of our Father in heaven, who gives us grace, who guides our lives, and who helps us live in confidence.  It is not our reputation that matters; we hold the reputation of our Father in Heaven. 

Are you proud that you are a child of your Father in Heaven?  Are you living in the confidence of being his son, his daughter?

I remember walking out of the arena after the rodeo was over that day.  I held myself a little taller.  There was a touch more confidence in my stride.  That day I remembered I was the son of Kong.  His reputation rested on me.

Every day, walk a little taller.  Every day, put more confidence in your stride.  If you follow Jesus, your Heavenly Father’s reputation rests on you.