I have always felt that a person’s name should hold some significance. I love to hear the stories of how people were named, who they were named after, what inspired their parents to choose that particular title. So, when my daughter was born, I wanted to choose a name that would help to express my hopes for her, a name that would give her a great story to tell in a few years, when she is sitting around the circle at a L’Arche new assistants’ meeting.
And so, my daughter’s name is Maggie, a symbol of my hope that she will grow up to embody some of the qualities I love in her namesake and my friend, Maggie Rose Sutherland.
Maggie Rose is a woman of beauty – rich brown eyes, thick dark hair, a figure that most 50-something-year-olds would give their eye teeth for. But her beauty is not just in her killer looks. Maggie’s beauty extends to where it matters most- the inside.
Maggie has tremendous inner freedom. She expresses her joy with exuberance, and her anger with a similar level of abandon. She is not afraid to be sad, or lonely, or elated, or eager. With such radical self-expression, there is often friction between Mags and those around her. Luckily, Maggie also knows how to forgive, and how to accept forgiveness from others.
Maggie knows what she needs: good fiddle music, visits from friends, root beer, time at Waycobah House, constant encouragement and reassurance, someone to keep her company, things to look forward to.
Maggie has a great sense of humour (slapstick being her favourite), an eye for detail, a winning smile, a gift at the microphone, and an ability to make a grand entrance. Not surprisingly, she is widely known and fiercely loved by some pretty incredible people. If you are on that list, you know how good it feels to be friends with Maggie Sutherland.
If my Maggie can catch even just a little of that spunk and style, she’ll be a lucky girl.