Jacob had been living up to his name his whole life. Jacob means "heel-grabber" — or in plain terms, a schemer. He had grabbed his brother's heel coming out of the womb. He tricked his father into giving him the wrong son's blessing. He had spent years running, bargaining, and working angles. His whole life had been defined by that name — the one who gets what he wants by his own cleverness rather than by trust.

Then one night, alone at a river crossing, a stranger appeared and wrestled with him until dawn. Jacob refused to let go until the stranger blessed him. At the end of the struggle, the stranger asked: "What is your name?" Jacob answered honestly — Jacob. Schemer. That is who I am. And the stranger said: not anymore. From now on your name is Israel — one who wrestles with God and prevails. The wound in his hip would stay with him the rest of his life. But so would the new name.

There is something important in how the new name came — not by Jacob cleaning himself up and presenting a better version of himself, but through a night of honest wrestling. God did not rename Jacob after he had fixed all his scheming habits. He renamed him in the middle of the struggle, while he was still limping. That is how God often works with identity. He does not wait for us to become the person He is calling us to be before He starts calling us by that name. He speaks the new name into the middle of the old life and trusts us to grow into it.

Prayer: Lord, You know our real names — the ones we have been living under, the ones we are not proud of. Speak the new name over us. We may still be limping, but we are listening. Amen.