What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?
My middle name is Loia, and for most of my life, it was a mystery.
It’s funny this WordPress prompt comes up today… because I’ve spent decades carrying that name without really knowing why.
I always knew it was rare. I knew it sounded different. But beyond that, it was just this odd, beautiful word that sat between my first and last name like a secret I didn’t yet understand.
What I did know was that it was also my step great-grandfather’s middle name.
He wasn’t related to me by blood at all. He was my great-grandmother’s second husband, and they never had any children together.
On paper, he and I weren’t really connected at all. But life doesn’t always follow paper.
He was always around as I was growing up. He loved me and helped raise me like I was his own. He was an extraordinary man, steady and present, and he stayed in my life until he passed away in the mid-90s.
That middle name tied us together, even if I didn’t know where it came from. I just knew I shared something with him, and that felt important—even if I couldn’t put it into words.
When I started my blog back in November, I chose Loia as my pen name. I wasn’t even sure why I did it at the time.
It just felt right… like the name was waiting for that moment.
Maybe it reminded me of him. Or maybe the name had just been sitting there all along.
Either way… I typed it into the author field. And it just felt right.
Recently, I started digging into it… really digging.
I wanted to know what I’d been carrying all these years.
I found out that Loia was my step great-grandfather’s mother’s maiden name.
She was an Italian immigrant, and she gave that name to her son as his middle name… so he would carry it with him—to keep her lineage from being forgotten.
That’s when it really hit me.
She didn’t want her name, her people, her story to disappear into the dust of time.
So she planted it in her child’s name like a seed.
And now, somehow, I carry it too.
I’m not Italian at all, at least not by blood. Yet here I am, bearing the same name she fought to preserve.
Somehow.. I became part of what she started… long before I was even born.
And somehow I’m the one who ended up running with it.
I traced Loia back to its Latin origin and into the early Roman Empire.
I followed it as far back as the 12th century, to the Loia family in the southern Italian peninsula, in places like Campania. There may even be some Sicilian roots branching off that same line.
I read stories about relatives from those eras, names.. dates.. fragments of lives, and it was fascinating.
It felt like finding my name written in a story that started centuries before me… even though none of them are my blood.
Apparently it’s a rare surname.
Old as dirt…
the kind of name that has seen things.
I could have kept tracing it back even further, but at some point.. I decided to stop.
I knew enough.
I had already learned more than I ever expected to… and the mystery started feeling like it belonged to me.
Growing up, I pronounced it “Loy” like “Joy,” because that’s how I was told by my mother to say it.
Only recently did I learn that the Italian way is more like “LOH-yah.”
It’s interesting hearing the same name two different ways—one from my childhood, the other from Italy.
And then there’s this other detail that feels too poetic to ignore…
My girlfriend is also an Italian/Sicilian immigrant and an American citizen.
The way we met, the timing, the circumstances around it—it all carries this almost storybook quality.
“Coincidence” doesn’t quite feel like the right word anymore.
I don’t know how to explain it fully.
It just feels like there’s a hand at work in my life right now… quietly lining things up.
This old, rare name. The man who loved me like his own. The Italian mother who didn’t want her lineage forgotten. My choice of pen name. My girlfriend’s story.
All these crooked lines seem to be converging in ways I couldn’t have planned if I tried.
So what is my middle name, and what is its meaning or significance?
My middle name is Loia.
It’s the name of a man who helped raise me, the name of an Italian woman who refused to let her family disappear, a name that has survived centuries, continents, and bloodlines to land here, in my life, on my byline.
It reminds me that family isn’t always about blood… and that sometimes the things we carry our whole lives… finally make sense.
“It’s not what you got… it’s what you give. It aint the life you choose… it’s the life you live.”
Last night.. I dreamed I stood alone in a wild, untamed land — a place so alive it felt almost unreal. The trees burned with impossible colors, and the sunlight shot through everything in thick, glowing rays, like you could reach out and grab the light itself.
As I turned in slow circles, trying to drink it all in, a voice from nowhere said,
“Look! Here they come.”
And then I saw them.
They were ghosts — unmistakably ghosts — the spirits of Native American people, sliding out from the deep woods and rising up from the ground itself. Semi-transparent, otherworldly, they moved in long, silent lines, hundreds of them drifting past… some straight through me…
They didn’t look at me… didn’t react…
they just kept moving… wrapped in a silence I didn’t dare disturb.
It felt exactly like if you were sitting alone on your couch and suddenly the walls opened and your whole house filled with transparent figures.
When the last one passed through… the voice spoke again
“Now go, and paint what you saw.”
And I woke up — shaken and moved — knowing those words weren’t going to leave me alone.
…
I’m a dreamer… all my life…
many powerful ones…
but this one hits different…
This 👆 is a super cool video.. just found it
Me
Also.. I don’t paint or draw
when it comes to my dreams.. I have discernment.. I know when they are from above.. I know when they are bad.. I’m also able to tell when they are just my mind.. or meaningless random stuff.. and also over time I usually get the interpretation for many of them.. that comes from above as well…
Psalm 16:7 (KJV)
“I will bless the LORD, who hath given me counsel… my reins also instruct me in the night seasons…”
Sports have always been a huge part of my life. They’ve been there for as long as I can remember. I come from a long line of athletes. My grandfather even had an opportunity to pitch for the Detroit Tigers, but he chose to serve in World War II instead. My father was a great athlete too, and he was also my coach growing up, teaching me the game—and a lot about life—along the way…
I love a lot of sports, but my two main ones are American football and baseball. I played Little League all through my childhood and into my teens. I didn’t just throw on a uniform and participate—I excelled. I was a star, haha. I’m normally pretty humble, but I want to be accurate here so you can feel what I’m putting down 😅 I was mainly a pitcher, but in between starts I played shortstop and left field, doing whatever my team needed… I also hit for power and average.
In little league.. I once made an insane diving catch in left field to win the game… the crowd went nuts… bum-rushed me and carried me off the field on their shoulders cheering haha…
Sports were where I learned who I was when things got hard…
I kept it going into junior high and high school, playing both baseball and football. On the football field I lined up at quarterback, wide receiver, and at cornerback on defense, and I excelled there too. The dream was always to try and go pro in baseball, but along the way I got pulled into the music scene and ended up chasing that route instead. Even then, I never really left sports behind. I kept playing, jumping into league softball over the years and staying connected to the game any way I could.
As far as watching sports, my heart stays close to home. I love the Atlanta Braves and Falcons, and when it comes to college football, I’m a huge Georgia fan—Go Dawgs! Major League Baseball, the NFL, and college football are my mainstays, but I also enjoy basketball and golf, both playing and watching. Sports have always been more than just games to me. I’m thankful I grew up the way I did, grateful for the chance to play, I miss them days…
My first year in little league… im holding the bat wrong in this pic.. my hands are opposite how they should be lol
1 Corinthians 9:24–26 (NIV)
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize… Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever…
So over the years.. I’m often inspired in the shower.. as I relinquish my daily filth to the basin of dissolve.. aka down the drain.. something frequently speaks to me.. and by something.. I mean the ultimate something.. it has gotten to the point that I prepare for it.. and expect to receive.. each time I shed my garments and stand neath the cleansing flood.. I could tell you stories for days about my sacred shower time.. today… I felt these words in my spirit
winded is the sail… `.°~
I’m not sure what to make of it yet.. it could be a poem.. a title for one of my real life stories.. a song.. a direction.. or something much more.. but I will be listening further.. and as the days unfold.. I know it shall reveal itself…
Heart of Loia `'.,°~ 