Almost 20 years ago, when my brother and sister-in-law told me they decided to name their daughter Sarah, I wasn’t happy. Fighting back the tears, my voice cracked as I tried to answer their bewilderment. My heart went into a panic and disrupted the explanation that tried to exit my mouth. I was far from clear. How could anyone understand that I had been hurt—dreadfully hurt—by girls named Sarah all growing up? The Seed of Rejection It started when I was about four years old. I skipped up to the popular girl’s house a few doors down. No wonder it was quiet in the neighborhood; all the kids were over at Sarah's house. I wanted to join them. Even at that young age, I felt the pull of wanting to be accepted. I slowly approached the little kids standing in her driveway. They Continue Reading