I need to preface this very quick post by saying that I only slept 2.5 hours tonight…from 12:30ish till 3. At 3, I woke up with my left eye fusing shut and my nose wouldn’t stop running. As I laid there in the dark at the end of a king sized bed where my daughters were also sleeping, with my nostril plugged by some kleenex and my eye freaking out, I thought to myself, “This must be what youth and beauty really feel like.” Actually, I did think that. But in a very sarcastic thinking tone.

I only say all of that so that if I misspell the word ‘tree’ or say something uncharacteristically stupid, you might forgive me.

Forgiveness is what this post is all about.

Late last night, a friend posted an article on her facebook wall about an incident I do not remember in the news. But I read the article and then I clicked a link within the article to a video slideshow. That moment felt like it changed my life just enough to matter. Certainly enough to share.

Most of us have been taught the fundamentals of forgiveness. We know we are supposed to offer it when needed. We know what it is supposed to look like. We know it is good for us and for others. In some cases, it is easy to offer…when what was taken from us or handed down to us in abuse is not so bad or so personal.

But what do we do when the very worst is done? When the very worst is stolen away? When what is taken cannot be given back…ever? What then? We rank the world’s grievances and wrongdoings. The little white lie barely registers. Stealing from an employer…maybe a little higher. Betrayal. Abuse.  Murder. It all has a ranking.

What happens when a dude gets stone drunk, gets in his car, and drives like a man possessed until he slams into the car carrying my daughter and her friend? What would I do then? How would I react? Would I hate him? Curse him? Teach my other family members to be bitter? Or could I have the strength to forgive him? To give back to a world that stole the most precious thing on earth from me?

I hope I could find that strength. Jesus taught me to–Jesus led the way–but the real world examples can be so very hard.

This woman absolutely amazes me. Read her story. Where the article references “screens this video,” click that link and watch the slideshow. If you have teens, even really good ones, show it to them.

I hope no one reading this will ever be faced with such trauma. But if you are, I hope you can find a lighted path in the world, like this amazing woman. It really is the way to healing.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/04/20/renee-napier_n_1440809.html

It is 1:13 a.m. on Wednesday morning and I have a thousand things I should be doing. But at this moment on this night, I am sitting under the soft light of a single lamp and listening to “Never Saw Blue” by Shawn Colvin. I almost can’t listen to this song without getting weepy, because in one instant I can travel back almost 12 years to a life with only my firstborn boy (that’s Calvin Fletcher to you now, people. Get used to it. :D). He slept in a nursery upstairs that I poured my heart into for months. He came as a result of much praying, many heartbreaks, and years of searching. And as he would sleep upstairs, I would prop up in bed at night with an ancient laptop and download music that made me think of him. Those were the days of free music and I was a Napster expert. Propped up in my bed late, late at night, I would listen to these songs, think about my tiny baby upstairs, and cry.

And the most amazing thing about music is that it can utterly transport you into another place in time. Tonight I am 30 and my boy is a month old and these are the lyrics of a really great song. Before Cal, I never saw blue like I see it now.

I hope I’m still 30 in the morning…

Never Saw Blue Like That by Shawn Colvin
Today we took a walk up the street
And picked a flower and climbed the hill
Above the lake

And secret thoughts were said aloud
We watched the faces in the clouds
Until the clouds had blown away

And were we ever somewhere else
You know, it’s hard to say

And I never saw blue like that before
Across the sky
Around the world
You’ve given me all you have and more
And no one else has ever shown me how
To see the world the way I see it now
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that

I can’t believe a month ago
I was alone, I didn’t know you
I hadn’t seen or heard you’re name
And even now, I’m so amazed
It’s like a dream, It’s like a rainbow, it’s like the rain

And somethings are the way they are
And words just can’t explain

Cause I never saw blue like that before
Across the sky
Around the world
You’ve given me all you have and more
And no one else has ever shown me how
To see the world the way I see it now
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that before

And it feels like now,
And it feels always,
And it feels like coming home

I never saw blue like that before
Across the sky
Around the world
You’ve given me all you have and more
And no one else has ever shown me how
To see the world the way I see it now
Oh, I never saw blue like that before

There’s a lot to be known of someone or something just by what it is called.
For instance, a scalpel cuts your scalp off. A fireplace is a place where fire goes. The KIA Soul has SOUL and I want one. A minivan is a very small van.

For this reason, names were a huge topic of conversation in our house from Day 1 of our marriage. Unfortunately for the children we’d end up having, we didn’t much discuss their upbringing. We did, however, talk incessantly about their names. We always knew what we’d name our first boy. There was never any question. There were many questions about the others. On this blog, many of you know me and know my kids. Some of you may not know me at all and don’t care to. I decided from the beginning that if I was going to tell all their horror stories, I wouldn’t tell them by their accurate names. So we’ve been calling them by AG, Mama’s Boy, Beloved, and Snuggle Monkey. These are nicknames that all mean something. Beloved is not more beloved than the others. But her dad called her that from the beginning, so that’s who she still is.

I’m bored with all of that now. It sounds awkward as they age. In thinking back to the hours of name screenings we went through, I think to the names we argued over the most. The husband is just a little bit crazy. Just a tad. And due to the insanity, I was forced on occasion to shoot down his first choice. It’s what I do best. That and tripping pigs.

As we were going through the adoption process with our first, he began to pitch me the name, “Calvin Fletcher.” Really. What? That’s horrid. That’s a presidential name. Or a fat guy. Or a guy with two glass eyes and and hook for a hand. No. No Calvin Fletcher. I’ve since learned it was a joke, but for the sake of this blog, when I refer to Numero Uno Boy, I’ll call him Calvin Fletcher.

The second born came out clinging to my skirt and clung tighter as the years passed. I unfortunately made that worse one night while talking in the driveway to a neighbor. I thought he was dead asleep in his bed (he was about 3). Instead, he had gotten up and was searching the house for me and screaming. It was a terrible scene and I’m not sure he ever got over it. After that, it pretty much took the Secret Service and a gospel choir to convince him to leave my side. So he was named Mama’s Boy. But while he was a mere bun in the over, he had many names. The favored name that we both loved but knew we couldn’t use was Simon. Too english. Too Simple Simon. Too Simon Says. But for now, for here, Mama’s Boy is becoming Simon.

Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. Roll with me.

Beloved is a funny one, because her dad was DEAD SET on Evelyn for her. This one, unlike Calvin Fletcher, was not a joke. He loved the name Evelyn. I don’t mean to offend and this is not an insult. I only raised the point that I had never met an Evelyn who wasn’t convalescing. They were always quite wrinkly…and not baby wrinkly. I shot it down. But today on this blog, Beloved becomes Evelyn. Maybe the husband will get his fix. As if he reads this fluff.

The final baby ought to be named Miracle, because that’s what she was. But that’s neither here nor there. Todd wanted Mary. How could I have a problem with Mary, he asked? She’s the mother of Jesus. Yes, I said. That’s true. And I will never utter a foul word against the character of the mother of Jesus. But do I want that name? No. Sorry. When I looked it up in my books, it meant “bitter.” I didn’t need to curse the child with such a meaning. Knowing Snuggle Monkey as I do now, I can’t see her as a Mary. But she will be called Mary here for now.

So Calvin, Simon, Evelyn, and Mary (WOW) have taken upon themselves the business of naming our chickens. The first go-round, this made sense. There were only 4 original chickens and then 2 babies. All six, when fully grown, looked entirely different. It was easy to name them, get attached to them, and let them be pets. They did struggle to name them anything feminine. We have Silver, Phantom, Panther, Summer, Goldilocks, and Prime. Of those, only Prime was a boy.

The second batch of chickens was almost impossible to name, because (1) there were 10 of them, and (2) they all look alike.

All but one. One chicken stands out in the pack of awkward teen hens we are raising. She is blonder than the others. She has always been Evelyn’s chicken and Evelyn named her…wait for it….Eeknit. Yes, Eeknit. Pronouced EEK-nit. No idea where she came up with that or why she stuck with it. I only know that there is SOMETHING in a name, because Eeknit is as strange as a normal person at a Star Trek conference. And though I have managed to grit my teeth and get through it every day, she almost always flies out of the darkest corner of the coop and attacks me when I go in to feed them. Oh, she tries to make it look like an accident. But I know better. She’s looking for a role in a creepy bird-of-prey movie. She’s not right, that one. Today she flew out of nowhere and landed on my chest. Try that sometime, if you never have. Allow a mentally deficient teenage chicken to land just below your face and dig her talons into you. It’s fun. It’s what we do when we don’t have neighbors.

Yes, I believe in names. And I sleep with one eye open because I have a pet named Eeknit. If you never hear from me again on this blog, don’t assume I’ve taken one of my regular hiatuses. Don’t assume I’m too busy.

Assume the chicken got me.