My first memory of words comes from the King James Bible.
For some reason, at the age of four, I memorized the Christmas story as told in Luke 2. One of my parents must have read it to me frequently. I loved the sound and rhythm of the words and the way they combined to tell such an amazing story. I particularly loved these words, “Fear not for behold I give you good tidings of great joy. . . ”
Fear and joy. Both such an integral part of my life. And all wrapped up in Jesus.
My father, an English professor, apparently liked the poem “Afton Water” by Robert Burns so when I appeared in this world, he declared that my name should be Afton. He loved the idea that my first name fit so well with my last name—Banks.
As a teenager, I just wanted a “normal” name, a name that wouldn’t land me in the male dorm at band camp. And then I got married and added a new last name—Rorvik, which means “Bay of Pipes” in Norwegian. I have now completely muddled my father’s metaphor.