Blackbirds, ladybugs, greyhounds and love--it is all too much!

     

       I looked up the other day and saw all these blackbirds (grackles, starlings what have you) in the tree and I was instantly reminded of our daughter.  When she was young Charlotte developed an aversion to things in large numbers.  One fall we had an invasion of ladybugs at our house, now normally this might seem like some random sign of good luck, but not for Charlotte.  She could not sleep due to these cute little bugs, "they smell" she would cry, and you know-she was right.  Then there was the 4th of July parade in my hometown, every group imaginable comes to this parade including the Grey Hound Rescue Society, you can guess what happened next.  After  the parade my husband and I were standing in the park when we saw at least 40 greyhounds come right through the center, we looked at each other and without thinking we read each other's mind "Charlotte"!  Sure enough there she was standing with her head down and face grimacing as she tried not to have one of them touch her.  She is now a mother of her own children yet we still will occasionally taunt her with a picture of a grey hound.

     When is too much too much?  I met a woman in town after I was appointed to the church I serve.  She never attended church but she took me through the town and showed me where people lived and described who was who in the zoo.  We both have a passion for writing and reading.  I would arrive at her house weekly with a canvas bag full of books, some to return some to share.  I would take my shoes off; we would sip tea and talk for an hour about life and books, community events and books our families and books.  After a year I began to realize that she would repeat herself often, but she was in her nineties-who wouldn't?  So what if she tried to give me the same books each visit?  Is there ever really too much Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Thomas Merton, or Wendell Berry?  Then one day I saw her in a part of town that made me think she might be lost, soon she moved to a retirement community.  I would visit her there and she would re-share with me the stories she had written and I would gladly take them as if they were new to me.  Our conversations still inspired me.  Yesterday I went for a visit and when I got to her door it was bare, no name tag and sea glass welcoming sign.  I stood with my fist in mid air while my other hand held on to some flowers, fortunately an aid came to let me know that my friend had been moved into assisted living.  When I arrived at her door she stood with a bright smile, her arms opening for an embrace.  We shared a deep hug and sat across from each other, she looked at me and said "I know I know you but can you remind me how?"  I smiled as I told her while my insides wept.  It was too much.

This is Holy Week, which is a week full of too much.  Too much chaos, too much judgment, too much fear, too much finger pointing, too much suffering, too much pain.  The truth is we will share the same stories over and over in an attempt to remind ourselves of a love that is so big and so great that it may seem like too much. 

Maybe the reason Charlotte didn't like things in large number was because it really was too much---too much to make sense of--to the point that even ladybugs became frightening.

The truth is that if someone told me that my friendship would take this turn I might have thought it too much to deal with, once I grew to know her it may have seemed too much to bear, and now while it is too much to understand-"how and why her?" I love her too much to walk away.

“So, friends, every day do something that won't compute...Give your approval to all you cannot understand...Ask the questions that have no answers. Put your faith in two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years...Laugh. Be joyful though you have considered all the facts....Practice resurrection.”

― Wendell Berry, The Country of Marriage

What will you call me?

We have three children and two have family names and the middle son is named after our favorite names at the time.  Charlotte Louise, our first born, was named after two of our grandmothers, Christopher William, our third child, was named after my brother and all the Bills in our family (there are 4).  I was in the hospital for about 4 weeks before he was born 6 weeks early, we named him after the men in our family feeling it would give him a fighting spirit.  Nathan Scott was named after a character in Ben Ames Williams' "Come Spring”, a wonderful book, and Scott was my husband's favorite name.  Nate never liked that he was not named after family.  I could never get across to him how much we loved his name.

      I never liked my own name as it was spelled differently than a more common spelling and it was often misspelled.  Now I like that it is different. 

     Listen to any expectant couple today as they try to name their babies, it must be unique, it must be original and most of all it must not be associated with someone they know, unless they really love them, and it CANNOT be rhymed with or turned into some humiliating nickname.

  I am not sure we thought as much about nicknames and how our children might be teased by others because of their name.  Is it because bullying has become worse and people are protective; thinking they can actually create a "tease free" name therefore a "tease free" life? 

    

Unfortunately what we know is that forget about your birth name....there are plenty of other names that can label us for life.  People are called all sorts of names based on their size, age, race, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexuality and even their political leanings.  We can be defined by labels we never heard of before or by the familiar standbys. 

   

After working in the school system, with teens, for about 8 years I can tell you there are children who are rarely called by their birth name.  Maybe they are called something cool, giving the impression that they are popular or athletic, or maybe they are called many things that mean only one thing "You do not belong!" 

     What is in a

“What's your name,' Coraline asked the cat.’Look, I'm Coraline. Okay?'

'Cats don't have names,' it said.

'No?' said Coraline.

'No,' said the cat. 'Now you people have names. That's because you don't know who you are. We know who we are, so we don't need names.”

― Neil Gaiman, Coraline

     What's in a name?  In Mark 14:1-11 there is an "unnamed woman" who lavishes expensive oil on Christ's.  This woman, in a man's world, made it into the Bible because of her actions and her insight. She showed extravagant and wasteful love...for this image she is remembered.  Jesus referred to himself as light and bread, signs of hope and community….through these images he is remembered.  Imagine yourself…unnamed----who are you?