What's in a name?

I had a wonderful Valentine's Day. I received a package from my parents at work containing a GPS navigation system, a Garmin, and I was overwhelmed by their generosity. If I wasn't the happiest girl in San Diego, I was certainly the most spoiled! The sick feeling I've repeatedly fought back down as I've ventured into six-lane traffic while simultaneously trying to read a map quest print out and keep the sun out of my eyes resulted in less-than-safe driving and I am so grateful for this gift.
I visited "World Market" after a good day at work, bought a bottle of Riesling called "Polka Dot" (I'd been eyeing it for a while, today it happened to be on sale!), went home and wriggled out of my work clothes and put on a French film, "Avenue Montaigne." Actually, I don't recommend it, but it served its purpose. I enjoyed tearing open some mail from friends and family, Heather and Alison, thank you so much for thinking of me. Your cards were wonderfully encouraging!
I'm concluding my day now by listening to my favorite mix CD from Heather and writing this note.
Despite a really blessed day, I'm beginning to feel some of the symptoms of heart sickness loved ones gently warned me about as I prepared to leave home; gently enough that I wouldn't be too scared to go or sleep, numerous enough that I was mentally prepared.
I have everything one would need to be content and I can literally list the things I "want" on one hand: patio furniture, a piano, an ankle that doesn't hurt anymore, and a friend. Four, not bad. Despite this, I can feel satan working so hard to draw out the joy in my life leaving a hollow space in my head where thoughts of greed, self-pity, bitterness, and malcontent echo off its walls. For some reason I'm finding it difficult to keep that space filled for very long, people far away are working overtime to do their part, God walks beside me constantly comforting me with his blessings -- quick fixes, no matter how worthy, are not the remedy. What I need is not something I can work hard for, not something I can strive to be good enough for, it is something that requires me to do the thing I'm very worst at; trust God. I must metaphorically unclench the fists I so bravely made and go before God palms up. I have to show Him, more for my sake than His (He already knows), that I have nothing to offer and I come broken and sad to be a daughter so unworthy. I can't tell you what the immediate benefits of this are because healing, at least for me, doesn't work like a shot in the arm, but more like a balm that is soothed on and goes to work with time.
Today, I went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription (face meds) and the woman behind the counter asked for my insurance card and said "I thought you might've stopped by yesterday, Mary." Initially annoyed by the subtle reprimand, I paused, hand hanging in midair as I extended the card toward her, and looked at her. "What did you say?", I asked. She repeated herself and I heard her say my name again without having glanced at my card or white Rx sack yet. I said "okay" and finished the transaction and wished her a happy Valentine's day. I felt better as I walked away, she is the first person to remember who I am outside of the office. It sounds ridiculous, but what had been "sweet anonymity" had begun to make me feel quite invisible in this place whenever I wasn't at work. I'm anonymous no longer, one person down, an entire city full of people left to go, a season of growing stretches before me. I feel more and more ready.