Called by Name

Sometimes a story comes my way. It’s not about me. And then, somehow, it is. When I pay attention, a personal longing or loss—often yet to be named—flickers. And sometimes, flares. Which gets me thinking. Maybe this marvelous tale will kindle something in you.

Called by Name

For Aiden
(noun, Irish, meaning “Little Fire”)

Baby Aiden sits on a rug the color of embers,
snapped into a onesie
gray as a mourning dove’s wing:
a blue-eyed boy with stones for ears.

What about lullabies
and Mother Goose? Or incoming surf?
Will he ever thrill to applause,
hear a footloose puppy’s joyous arf?

And Aiden’s people, after tears
and surgical tubes, after the draining
and praying and waiting: what then?
“Aiden,” his mama calls, yet again.

A slow-motion blink, his gaze
turning pure flame, wide
toothless grin—he’s hearing, hearing
his name, his bold, beautiful, blazing name.

***

I’ve watched Aiden’s moment on video, over and over: the palpable flash of revelation—the child’s face, pure wonder!—then his whole body responding, exuberant, knees and hands padding forward.

Consider, for a moment, our names, inscribed on the hands of Christ.

If you’ve been reading this blog as well as the comments over the past few years, you will have encountered Aiden’s grandpa, a man who memorably names what moves him. He recently told me the long months of waiting and praying for Aiden have been good—in part, for the empathy gained, and for the hope of comforting others who are suffering. This family truly understands being called by name.

“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare’s Juliet asked.

Picture a certain garden, on Easter. Among the risen Rabbi’s first recorded words, one noun stands out: “Mary.”

Chosen. Known. Named.

What if the Savior calls our name today, and we hear it as if for the first time?

From the archives: You might also enjoy Gaiety . . . to Go

And Open Sesame

Baby’s ear Photo by Laura Ohlman on Unsplash

Flaring match Photo by Elia Mazzaro on Unsplash