The Name That's a Secret

Tuesday morning early I meandered down the basement stairs to get started on school and was greeted with a message written on the concrete floor that said "Hey beautiful, you are loved," in different colors, and then a big yellow sunshine. Of course it was Mom who had left it there for me, along with the new chalks. Apparently, she felt bad when she saw me a few nights previous sitting on the basement floor, doodling palm trees and sailboats with our only piece of broken white chalk.

I love my Mom.

I also love my Dad. Thursday morning I woke up to the sizzling of pancakes two stories below me, the smell wafting up through the stairs to my loft. It's a food I have been craving ever since the great pancake war of '12. Which was not even two weeks ago. But we'll let it go down in history anyway.

Anyhow, I finally got my fill of pancakes, and discovered that if you skip the maple syrup and top it with Greek yogurt and honey instead, it's more filling (which makes the brain work less distractedly come 10:15 AM, my "Am I really gonna make it til lunch?" hungry time), and you can eat way more without feeling sick at the end of it.

So we got pancakes and it wasn't even the weekend! One of the perks of having an unemployed dad. (Though it's the only perk, I might add, and a selfish one at that.)

So Dad somehow subconsciously knew I needed pancakes. He also knew that I needed the disc swing fixed. After 12 years of very consistent use, that swing finally cracked. It's amazing it lasted as long as it did though, because it was made by Little Tikes with a weight limit of 70 lbs, and many of its users were much over that. Like me. And the random 250 lb guy. Anyhow, we bought a new, heavier-duty, yellow disc thats weight limit is 200 lbs, so that means it can hold up to 600, if the ratio is the same as the 70 lb one :). Two days ago Dad was feeling like getting it installed was an urgent matter, but I assured him it was fine. It was okay that he had forgotten to get a new rope, and putting it up could wait until he got back from Tennessee.

I should have let him feel urgent, because I just recently discovered that I am actually completely lost without that swing. Ever since I was a very little girl I've liked to swing on it for hours every day. 1) Because it is the closest I can get to flying. 2) It's the perfect thing for thinking on (or daydreaming, or praying), since when my body is engaged in motion, it's a lot easier to process thoughts clearly. As such, I've made 12 years worth of decisions, and thought and prayed through a lot of life, just on that swing.

This week what I've been thinking about, and wanting to "swing on," is  Judges 13:17-18. "And Manoah said to the angel of the LORD, “What is your name, so that, when your words come true, we may honor you?” And the angel of the LORD said to him, “Why do you ask my name, seeing it is wonderful?” (ESV)

So the angel doesn't tell him his name. It is wonderful as in, "it is too wonderful for me. It is high, I cannot attain it" (Psalm 139). The NIV replaces the word "wonderful" with, "beyond comprehension."

If you ask me, that is the coolest thing ever. A name so wonderful, so incomprehensible that it cannot be spoken to an earthling? I think that also means it must be a beautiful name. It is too beautiful to be intoned.

And that is just one name. Of one angel. Think of all the beauty that awaits us...Beauty that we cannot comprehend now. That there is no use explaining to us now, because it is too wonderful for us to understand.

If I think a day like today is beautiful, with the clear blue sky and bright green little baby leaves and the red happy tulips and Maryah out in the garden in her twirly skirt...what is heaven like?

I would say something like, "Gaspingly, heart-burstingly beautiful, that's what." But what's the use? If an angel wasn't going to bother saying just his name because it was too wonderful, how would you describe the place where these angels with their beautiful names live?

Yep, I give up.

However, this is in no way to downplay the beauty that has been given us. My little human mind is quite enraptured by the springtime loveliness around here. The air that makes hung-out quilts smell so fresh. The morning birds and the evening peepers. Watching sunsets from the cab of the old truck, alone. The humidity that is soothing to breathe and makes my hair frizzle and twist into corkscrews. Post rain, the evening sun shining through millions of glistening cobwebs strung between the field grasses. Lightly leafy forest paths, patched with purple violets. (Sorry, that last sentence was probably a bit too alliterative.) Garish yellow dandelions that scream for attention, contrasted by their wispy, mysterious, silent orbed counterparts...Etc.

And this is just earth―and one corner of it, at that.