How Joseph and My Dad Taught Me the Meaning of a Name

Saint Joseph rests in holy trust as the angel whispers the call to name the Child Jesus.

The Fourth Week of Advent always feels close and tender. The candles burn a little lower. The edges of Christmas come into view. This year, the Gospel from Matthew stayed with me in a different way.

“Now this is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about” (Matthew 1:18). Joseph discovers that Mary is with child. He knows the child is not his. He decides to step away quietly. Then, in the night, God sends a messenger.

“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:20-21).

That one line would not let go of me. “You are to name him Jesus.”

In that moment, God entrusts Joseph with more than protection and food. God entrusts him with a name. A simple word on Joseph’s lips that carries salvation for the world. A name full of mission and mercy.

Sitting in the pew, I thought about my own name.

My story does not begin with a traditional family picture. My birth mother was young and not married to my birth father. Life was hard. In her struggle, she turned to her parents for help. My grandmother and grandfather stepped in and helped raise me from the beginning.

To me, they were not “grandma and grandpa” first. They were simply Mom and Dad.

My grandfather was not even my blood relative. He had married into the family. On paper, he was my step-grandfather. In real life, he was my father.

There is a small twist in his story that I love. When he was born, his name was supposed to be Thomas Edward. Somewhere in the paperwork, something went wrong. Only Edward ended up on the birth certificate. Everyone knew he was meant to be Thomas Edward, but the document never showed it.

Years later, when my birth mother held me in her arms, she asked him if she could give me his name. He agreed, with one condition. “Only if they get it right this time.”

So they did. My name became Thomas Edward. On the day I was born, my name finally carried what his birth certificate had missed.

They raised me as their son. As I grew older and started to ask questions, the truth of my story came into focus. I learned who my birth parents were. I learned more about the pieces that came before. None of that changed what lived in my heart. The two people who fed me, loved me, taught me, corrected me, and tucked me in at night were my parents.

He was my dad.

Growing up, I did not go by Thomas. Everyone called me Eddie. That was my dad’s name, and it became mine too. I wore it without thinking much about it. It was simply who I was.

In high school, something shifted. I decided I wanted to use my first name. I did not want to be Tom or Tommy. I started to write it slightly differently. Thom. With that small spelling, I felt like I was stepping into my own story, while still carrying his.

Since then, I have carried the name Thom with pride. It carries my dad’s hidden “Thomas.” It carries the love of the man who helped raise me. It carries the grace of the God who never lost track of any piece of my story.

My dad passed away in 2001. Years later, when my wife and I learned we were expecting a son, we talked about names. We both knew where our hearts were already. We wanted to honor my dad. We wanted that family line to keep going.

Because of Filipino naming laws, our son would carry two middle names. We still made sure “Thomas Edward” found a home in his full name. Three men now share that same pair of names across three generations. My dad. Me. My son. There are no “Junior” or “Senior” titles. We are simply three people linked by one name and a lot of love.

In daily life, we call our son Eddie. The same name I grew up with. One day, he may decide to stay with Edward, or go by Thomas, or even Thom. That choice will be his. Whether he stays Eddie or chooses Thomas, he will always carry my dad’s name and mine.

We never had a moment with all three of us together. My dad died long before my son was born. But in a quiet way, they still meet. Every time I say my son’s full name. Every time I hear someone call “Eddie” across a room. The man who raised me and the boy I am raising are both present in that sound.

Joseph’s story runs right alongside all of this. He is not the biological father of Jesus. Yet God still trusts him with Mary, with the home in Nazareth, with the journey to Egypt, and with the daily work of fatherhood. God also trusts him with the name chosen in heaven.

“You are to name him Jesus.”

Like Joseph, my dad stepped into a role he did not have to take. He did not share my blood. He shared his heart. He shared his name. He chose to be my father and stayed. He showed me what steady love looks like.

Naming becomes more than a practical decision. It becomes an act of love and belonging. Joseph names Jesus and, in doing so, claims Him. My dad let me carry the name he was meant to have. I carry it still. My son carries it too. Each of these choices quietly says the same thing. You belong here.

In baptism, God speaks an even deeper name over each of us. Water pours. The priest speaks “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” The Catechism teaches that baptism marks the soul forever as belonging to Christ. No sin erases that mark, even though sin wounds the heart that bears it.

Scripture says, “See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are” (1 John 3:1). In baptism, child of God becomes more than a phrase. It becomes our truest name.

Your family name might change through adoption, marriage, or other turns in life. The name God speaks in baptism does not change. Beloved son. Beloved daughter. Claimed.

Some days, I forget this. Doubt rises. Old shame whispers. I look at my failures and feel like an outsider again. On those days, God often brings my dad and my son to mind. I remember the man who took me in as his own, and the boy who carries both of our names. Through them, God reminds me who I am.

A name works like a key. Spoken in love, it opens doors inside the heart. It unlocks belonging. It connects past, present, and future. When someone speaks your name with care, you step forward a little more freely, because you know you are seen and wanted.

Advent invites you to listen for the names God speaks. Emmanuel. “God is with us.” Jesus. “He will save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). These are not distant, poetic titles. They are promises. The same God who gave Jesus His name and gave me my father’s name now speaks your name with love.

As Christmas approaches, I stand in gratitude.

Grateful for the grandfather who was never “step” in my heart, who gave me his name and his place in the family.

Grateful for Joseph, who trusted a dream and named the Child as God commanded.

Grateful for the grace to pass that name to my son, and to love him in all my imperfections.

Most of all, grateful for the God who knows my whole story and still calls me son.

I invite you to sit with your own name for a moment. The one your family chose. The one spoken at your baptism. Ask the Lord where He has been at work through your story. Ask Him to remind you of your deepest identity as His child.

You might even whisper your name in prayer and follow it with the word “beloved.” Let those words rest in your heart. Let the Father show you how true they are.

Then, bring to mind the fathers in your life. A dad, a grandfather, a stepfather, a godfather, a spiritual father or maybe Saint Joseph himself. Offer a prayer of thanks for the ones who said yes, who gave you a place to belong, who helped you know your name.

Lord, thank You for the fathers who say yes, for the names that carry love, and for claiming us as Yours.