Names

"Why do you think the people in line were calling each other names?" Jane queries, knitting sprawled on her lap in the backseat.

I shift the car to park. The night cold and moist, we hesitate for a moment. "I don't know. I didn't really notice," I say. "What were they calling each other?"

"Well," she see-saws, "things like fatty and, and -- um, like I-don't-like-you." She gropes for an approximation.

I glance at the house, porch light incandescent, the evening sky obsidian. "Some people think that's ok," I pause. The words lop out like a pile of logs. "I think it's disrespectful to God," I add, "'cause He made us."

"Oh." We let this set for examination. She knits to the end of the row. I make a note in my journal.

And then, as if on cue, she winds scarf and yarn down into a ball, spears it with the knitting needles. I tug a bag from the passenger seat, socks and leggings a lump at the bottom. We trundle into the oatmeal and cinnamon breath of home, a little more knowledge added to the collection.

Gratitude:

3709. "There's a little thing in Pastor Will's class that when you put money in, it makes it go up into Africa," Lucy tells me.

3710. "Everything in the Bible is REAL," she says.

3711. "It's hard to break colored pencils," she confesses later, "but I can break crayons."

3712. My mother sends updates from Kenya each day. I am humbled, down-on-my-knees awestruck by the power and love of Jesus to save. Thousands come to the Crusade. More than a thousand turn to Jesus.

3713. A sister-in-law joins me for laundry and coffee. We look over her beautiful photos and share art and life.

3714. A new friend comes for granola and tea. I am blessed by the sweetness of her love for the Bible, the reverence, the joy.

3715. My dad parses out what he's learning while Mom's away in Kenya and shares it with me.

3716. I worry all week over a doctor appointment that goes well.

3717. I dread visiting the dentist to have a crown re-done. Suddenly it's over, and I'm grateful for the good care.

3718. Jack scrambles to clear his breakfast dishes when I mention it need to be done.

3719. "Boogers, boogers," Myra croons at my elbow, "I like boogers."

3720. We attend a birthday party of where friends feel like family.

3721. Craig's mom drops by to say hi.

3722. My dad calls for tips on pie making.

3723. Jane and I take a date. I try to be more fun.

3724. We enjoy Sunday lunch with new friends.

3725. "So you think that this trouble would all go away if I just tried to be more fun?" I clatter down the stairs and poke my head around the corner. Craig nods. I grin. Ok.

3726. Another week skitters to motion, and I get to start by being more fun.

***We just received word that the youngest son of a dear friend in Kenya has died of Malaria. Please join us in prayer for them.

Lu

"Do you think there is a spoon inside of you that stirs everything you eat?" Lucy asks. Tall in the booster seat, her wide-set eyes blink-blink in the rearview mirror.

"No, I think your stomach just sort of squishes it all together." I press on the break. We ease like a sigh up to the corner. I squint into the sun, the heavy air orange with dust particulate. I swing wide; we zip off.

"I want to marry someone from Africa," she announces. She stares out the passenger window. Her eyes follow oncoming traffic, a blue four-door, a yellow jeep, another white suburban.

"Why is that?"

""Cause, I know they are not in our family." We pass under a grid of power lines, enormous gray turrets laced together over wheat fields now stubble. "And maybe one of them is named Craig. And maybe I will change my name to Bethany. And then there will be two Craig and Bethanys." She nods her head, wrinkles her chin and forehead in tandem. "Yeah."

I watch her mimic the grown-up tilt of her head. "You're sweet, Lucy."

The wheat fields pendulate by, snarled yellow, radiant brown, more golden stubble, then blooming soil.

"Why does it look like we are lost?" she chirps. "I better eat a piece of chocolate. I don't think I can finish all this chocolate."

She chatters. We glide along. Broad strokes of turns swoop like wings. Silence idles and purrs.

"Do you think there is little bones in your lips?" she says.

"No. Do you?"

"Yeah," she nods, does that dip of chin, "'cause God put bones all over our body." Blink-blink, those wide-set eyes.

Open fields wind into the trellis grid of shops and stores, street lights, a symphony of traffic. I clatter over a curb and park mostly straight.

"Come on." I lug her door open, the wind a gambol across our faces, tendrils of hair blown every direction at once.

"I know how to make a baby," she blurts while I unbuckle her seatbelt. "You have to take a little of the mommy and a little of the daddy." She slides onto the footboard, hops down. "So if the daddy is dead, you can't have another baby."

"Here, let's hold hands." And then we skip, hand in hand, tra-la-la, the snap of the wind rosy on our cheeks: to the baby store.

I unwrap each baby. She vacillates dollies from hand to hand, pats their back sides, squeezes their heads, flops them over her shoulder.

"Ooo, this one is really cute. I like this one."

I reassemble the packaging. We pay for baby, climb in the car.

"Do you think her name should be Violet?" her voice soft like a kiss. "How 'bout we call her Lu, little baby Lu." As we trace the roads home, I memorize the soft unfolding of her voice. "It's Lu Anna. And her very last name is Little Baby."

Lu Anna Little Baby. Silence settles, a down comforter of a hush tucked up under our chins.

She buckles her baby into Joey's carseat, and we rest, love tucked up under our chins.

Gratitude:

3637. Rosie blogs about our photo shoot.

3638. Furnace fixed.

3639. Chimney swept.

3640.We continue reading Corrie ten Boom and stumble across: How should a Christian act when evil was in power? "Just keep persevering," Jane says. "If I die, I die. And if I don't die, I don't die," Jack says. "That's so true," Janie adds, "the only safe place is to be where God wants you."

3641. "The people who built the tower of Babel," Janie says, "were trying to say: I'm gonna disobey You and still get to live with You."

3642. "The Tower of Bable was probably a ziggurat," I tell her. "A cigarette?" she says.

3643. "Do they milk horses?" Jack wants to know. "Have you ever sawn a horse with horns?"

3644. "What's your baby's name?" I ask Myra. "Myra's Baby," she says.

3645. "Mommy, I smack a spider," she says, fly swatter sidled up to her cheek.

3646. "I wish I could smell this verse and taste it," Jane says. "That would mean that I could memorize it faster."

3647. "What is that?" Jack comments on my chicken dinner. "What it is," Jane says, "is something from the hands of Mommy that is really good."

3648. "God is REAL in our dreams," Lucy tells me. "One person is always REAL, and it is God."

3649. "You gotta love people even if you don't like them," she adds.

3650. We read the story of Jonah and the children add commentary: God never gives up. He can do anything. He's stronger than anything. He loves all people.

3651. We ask what they noticed about Jonah: He disobeys. He wants to do things that are easy.

3652. "I want to be a mom like you," Lu says.

3653. I ask Lu about her bad dreams and how she hasn't come and got me in the middle of the night for a while. "Yeah," she says, "'cause I know that God loves us. And I know he is taking care of us."

3654. "I found a little green thing that I think is a worm egg," Jack says. "And I put it in a bucket and put worms in it so that if it pops out they can nurse it."

3655. "I don't know that they nurse when they pop out of the egg," Jane questions, "but maybe."

3656. Myra bounds up and kisses my leg.

3657. Jane explains her journal. "Jesus cares about the churches. I didn't know that. I thought he was just like, huh. But He's like you're doing a good job. Try to do better."

3658. The kids unroll pillows and blankets, snacks and puzzles to watch the presidential debate. Myra climbs on my lap to kiss Joey.

3659. I ask Myra her baby's name again. "Mine," she says.

3660. Lucy falls off the step stool. Jack rushes over to hug her.

3661. I check on Joe and find baby Lu propped on his belly.

3662. "I hope God lets Great-Grammie stay alive until she's one-thousand," Lucy says.

3663. "Mommy, I like your mouf," Myra says. "I like your cheeks. I like this one cheek." She traces my face when I tuck her in.

3664. Groceries. Trader Joes, Costco, even little extras like coconut oil, fancy cheese and dark chocolate.

3665. Another gallery opening. I show the kids how great paintings will move your eye over the whole canvas through the use of color, shape, and pattern. They laugh and point out the path.

3666. Craig saves the day as Myra *almost* makes it to the galley bathroom in time. A dear friend tells me her replacement outfit is adorable.

3667. I stop to consider: in one week my momma will be in Kenya. I feel the weight of this.

3668. We trounce to the farm with cousins and siblings. Bbq burgers, homemade buns, cranberry salad, potstickers, garden bounty, family encircles the farm table. The laughter sounds like a bubbling brook.

3669. The children fold up all their clothes and trade in for winter duds.

3670. A quote from T. Keller, "True joy is not found by controlling your environment but by controlling your allegiances."

3671. And A.W. Tozer, "The only thing you need to be ashamed of is sin."

The Tooth

"Jack, supplies," Jane thunks a bowl of ice on the table, rectangular mirror and wash cloth in hand. "If you just sit here," she points to the kitchen bench, "I'll hold the mirror."

I plop a stick of butter into the Kitchen-Aid mixer, watch Jack reef on his loose tooth. "Wow, that looks like it hurts." He bends if forward, back, forward. I turn to Jane, "He's tough; that's what he is."

"He's a BOY," she adds, "that's what he is."

They rotate: ice, mirror, bend the tooth, mirror, ice, have Momma try. Jane flops the wash cloth on the table, leans on an elbow. I add brown sugar and eggs to the cookies, whirl the mixer.

And then, he pulls it out. We cheer. The children erupt, I smile, pat his back. And I watch over his shoulder. He holds it up, jagged white pebble, and whispers, "Look, a newborn baby."

Tenderness, folded like moth wings, unfurls. "Can I have a tooth holder," he says. So, I dig out an old baby food jar. The tooth rattles like a metronome inside.

"Jane, let's go downstairs and look at my tooth and do the puzzle," he shouts, and ragtag band of adoring sisters trot down stairs to look at his tooth.

Another moment, another milestone.

Gratitude:

1852. Up before six Tuesday morning and Jack's incredulous, "Momma, did you stay up ALL night?!"

1853. How before bed Jane kisses my hand and croons, "You're so sweet," then cuddles my it to her face.

1854. Lucy playing house, "Raise your hand if you're a marigold."

1855. How when Myra cries Lucy lulls, "Yes, my dear?"

1856. How when I tell Jack he can sit by me at lunch, he won't take a bite until I do.

1857. How at the first sign that tooth is loose he bursts, "Can we have a party when my tooth falls out?"

1858. How Jane clomps upstairs after half an hour, "I don't know why they think seeing teeth is so interesting."

1859. A tooth party with all the fixin's.

1860. New pants.

1861. How Lucy rotates a load of laundry when I mention it needs being done.

1862. How Jane makes name tags for place settings when we have company and makes a big card: Find Your Name.

1863. How Lucy copies her.

1864. How Myra eats the core of her apple.

1865. Lucy trying to sound grown-up, "Black widows like BANANAS."

1866. Jack at breakfast, "If you let me make toast, I'll let you HOLD my tooth."

1867. How when I ask Jane what God's teaching her, she pauses, and says, "He's reminding me not to get angry when people do things I don't like."

1868. How Lucy makes me a card, "It's just important to write Momma whole bunch of times."

1869. How she hugs her dolly and sing-songs, "I'm thinking you're getting cold." And how she turns to me, "I'm taking my baby on a date to the store."

1870. How Jack reads a book while he brushes his teeth.

1871. How when I return from getting my pregnancy rhogam shot, Jane bounds to the door, "How was your rabies shot, Momma?"

1872. Lucy's explanation, "Jane let me use this toothbrush."

1873. How Myra toddles over, lays her head on my shoulders.

1874. How Jane sets a coffee cup out for me, grinds the coffee.

1875. Three girls gathered around to watch me brew it.

1876. How Lucy rotates another load of laundry without me asking.

1877. Lentil chili and fresh bread on the farm.

1878. The kids' new game: Mad Tea Party. The cacophony that ensues.

1879. The insight from my mom that God put beauty here to comfort us.

1878. Jack's affection to Myra, "Hi, little mother duck."

1879. Lucy's question, "Mom, wanna know what study means? It means win the race."

1880. Better than playing house, "We're pretending Jack's Peter Pan, and I'm Captain Hook," Lucy says. "And Peter Pan always wins on me," says adds.

1881. The deliberation to slow these days, enjoy them as they come.

Worship

"Why do they do worship?" Jack whispers full-voice into my ear.

The lady next to us, all red lilies and black dress, looks straight ahead. I lean in, "It's a way to tell Jesus how much we appreciate him dying for us. Sort of like how we sing Happy Birthday to you to appreciate you." The congregation all on our feet, he stands on the chair next to me, crosses his arms.

"How long do they usually do worship?" he asks in shout-whisper. He washed me white as snow, the melody encircles the sanctuary. We sing.

"Oh, for a very long time," I whisper.

"Oh." He straightens up, wraps an arm around my shoulders. Another song unfurls. He rubs my back. His spine straight, shoulders broad, he's the silhouette of Craig, the gesture of a man. Though he taps out the songs' rhythms on my arm, lays his head on my shoulder, all I see is that flash of man.

For a moment I wonder why people want their sons socialized by peers.

Gratitude:

1379. Lulie, fresh garden tomato in hand, "I picked it because I thought it would be fweet."

1380. Jack's determination that yellow tomatoes float and red ones don't when he floods the sink to wash his tomatoes.

1381. Jane's response when I bumble over a bumpy parking lot, "We're special to God. I know he will take care of us."

1382. How Rosie flutters her eyelashes when I run my fingers through her red curls.

1383. Jane's question when I grumble over clothes left out, again, "Do you feel like I don't understand because I'm not like, 'ERRRRR!'" And how she adds, "I'm just calm when things happen."

1384. Her confession, "Wanna know why I ask you things two times sometimes? Because the second time you give me more details."

1385. How when I grouse and complain that she takes forever to get ready for bed she asks, "Can you ever brush your teeth too much?"

1386. Lulie's determination, "Mommy, I thought everyday we would wipe my face off," as I rush around to clear dinner.

1387. All the children shored up in green quilts and pillows listening to old time radio with Craig.

1388. Jane at the dinner table, "Jack, your ears are fabulously dirty. There's a lot of wax in there. It's yellow."

1389. And her cordial, "Before I go to lay down in bed, I just have to tell you one thing: You guys are such a blessing," as Craig and I smile, elbow deep canning pineapple salsa and plum jam.

1390. How Craig and I stop for plum toast, mozzarella cheese, and Greek olives, a late dinner amid laundry piles and mason jars.

1391. How Janie keeps asking how many pound of gas we put in the car because she can't remember gallons.

1392. How Jack feeds Rosie oatmeal with a toothpick.

1393. How Cerissa says, "Oh, that was nothing," when she watches my kids so I can exchange a vacuum.

1394. Picking plums in the orchard and how we have to outsmart the bees, and a sting.

1395. Five of us squeezed on Grampa's four-wheeler for the lumbering crawl up the mountain to the plums.

1396. Salmon grilled to balsamic and soy sauce perfection. And the midget watermelons and cantaloupe Craig's mom serves straight from the garden.

1397. How Lulie recites The Tiger by William Blake three times on the drive home from the farm.

1398. How I finally realize I should be intolerant of Rosie's sour attitude when I tell her NO.

1399. How much happier she is!

1400. How she signs SORRY and squeezes our faces together for a hug.

1401. How I stumble into a clearance sale on stylish jeans for the kids and me.

1402. How I made almost everything from scratch this week.

1403. How I tell the kids, "I love it when you guys come to church with me." And Lulie's matter-of-fact, "I know," she says, "You are a special girl, Mom."

1404. Realizing that this next season I will work harder than I ever have before and fall breathless and spent into bed each night -- and love it.

1405. The nugget of wisdom from our pastor this morning, "It takes no effort at all to be selfish or greedy or hypocritical."

1406. The handicapped man who hugs my hand and kisses it when I push his wheelchair out of church for him.

1407. Lulie's realization that she can't save plums under her pillow because they will get 'mooshed.

1408. How Jack offers me a plum he picked himself and grins as I take a bite, "Stout but good, huh?"

1409. Lulie's sing-songy lilt, "Jack is so fweet because he picked this for me." the plum in her hand.

1410. How Lucy picks a bowl of mint for Grammie and insists she wrap it up and take it home.

1411. Yellow cake with lime and powdered sugar.

1412. How Jack fishes out the sweetest pieces of caramel corn for Rosie.

1413. The Joy of Mathematics, a college course from Harvey Mudd that the sisters-in-law and Mom and I watch while we knit and shhhhh the children.

1414. How the kids sit and watch the first ten minutes before they shooo off to play.

1415. Jacks suggestion that if the baby's a girl we name her Laura, and if the baby's a boy we name him Hook.

1416. Dinner at a friends' house, taco soup and gray skies, and how a whole afternoon slips away in just a moment.

1417. Boston baked black bean with molasses and bacon.

1418. Psalm 95 in unison with the kids, O come let us sing to the LORD...

1419. Learning that discipline leads to freedom.