Name it and claim it

I spent the first seventeen years of my life meeting only three people with my name. Then in my first week at Seward I met about 35 other Rebekahs and Rebeccas, in addition to a huge surplus of Rachels and Sarahs. Apparently the matriarchs were the baby girl names to be had among families with a heavy investment in LCMS culture from 1975-1985.

I bring this up because if families with a heavy investment in LCMS culture are still sending their kids to Concordias 10 years from now, I think the places will be overrun by Anastasias, Marys, Evangelines, and Lilys.

Namemanship

My husband and I are blessed with a pacific relationship except in one regard: the naming of children. This means that we have to have a long and lasting fight about every other year. I know wives who surrender naming rights nearly completely, and couples who divide privileges on the basis of sex, but neither is the case in our house. Both of us have strong feelings about names for boys and girls.

So I share with all like-minded parents a strategy of namemanship executed by my husband, which he claims was not conceived deliberately or in malice. You will see, however, that his claim of innocence is impossible to believe.

Take a name proposed by your spouse which you do not like. Repurpose it as a designation for an imaginary and grotesque monster in your attic, and terrify your children with tales of this monster's appearance and character. Instantly, the name becomes permanently ineligible for any future child of the family.

Things like this don't happen by accident. I salute my infrequent foe for his wiliness.

I will hug him and squeeze him and call him George ...

A sloppily cobbled post on naming just because I feel like it.

So, a rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but we’ll never know because it doesn’t matter. The English word “rose” has come to us through the etymological fires, and thus that certain combination of consonants and vowels will forever conjure that particular flower and its attributes. Frindle the plant to your heart’s content, and still “rose” means “rose.” Words are a comfortingly stable matter in the troubling ink of our anti-matter times, and mostly oblivious to attempts to deconstruct them. Words mean what they mean, and they mean it endlessly. This is really good news.

Given the preponderant significance of even the smallest of words, it is a serious thing that God has privileged Man with the naming of children. Adam received from God authority over all God gave him to name, for to name something is to wrap it in a single, declarative shell; to define its use; to brand it as your own. When man fell, he remarkably retained the privilege of naming; authority bestowed upon created things by our gracious God is not authority soon lost. The queen procured for Adam out of his own royal flesh was defined by her lord after the fall, and the blessing her name held stuck. "Eve" she was called, and "Eve" she remains.

Behold! Even we of the plebeian generations are yet authorized to name our children. And, whoopee! Naming babies is on the top ten of Great Things About Having Kids. I have a mental folder bursting with combinations of names that I hope to use someday: a little Grandpa mixed with a little patriarch mixed with a little venerated saint and—POOF!—a little description of a new little person. Ha, ha! The delicious sensation of power! :D

There was a time when I thought our name selections were so clever, but I’ve since noticed that we’re not at all unique. EVERYONE is going the way of grandpa and the patriarchs, and everyone else is going the other way, still very much together. (HT on the link: Cranach) But, so what? The more Marys we have the better. At the end of the day, I am ever humbled and amazed that my children, these remarkable people placed into my hands, respond to and are defined by the simple words my husband and I were entitled to place upon them when they were born.

And, of course, no naming post would be complete without a Baptism reference. Incredibly, for the sake of Christ, God so loves His elect that He bestows upon them His One True Name, thus wrapping them in a single, declarative shell, defining their use, branding them as his own. Eyes to the skies, friends, even while daydreaming up names for what babies may yet come. Names mean something, and they mean it endlessly. This is really good news.

And now I don't know what to name this post

You may recall that we're very particular about baby names in our house. It is a matter of theological and historical precision and, this time around, an all new level of marital animosity. But we've reached a peaceable agreement.

Anyway, two great things happened. First, you know that thing people say about how you should think of what terrible insults other kids will make out of your kid's name? Well, we've never bothered with that. Then I was interrogated by some of the school kids of my acquaintance about the impending baby. They wanted to know what the name would be, and I told them. And a kid instantly, inspiredly opened his blessed mouth, from which sprang the perfect insultification of our boy name. It was hilarious. It was exquisitely idiotic in true kid insult fashion. It was SO OBVIOUS. It was awesome. I'm going to congratulate his mother for having raised such a fine son the next time I see her.

Then we were talking with another couple, pregnant with their first baby. We asked them if they had names, and if they were sharing. They were. Their boy name was the same fairly obscure, popularly unpopular though not prohibitively weird name of our selection. We all stood around with our mouths open. I mean, for real? You're kidding, right? Seriously, we don't know one living human with this name, and if the name trend charts are to be believed, pretty much no one else does.

The duplication doesn't bother me; I think it's a good catholic name and that people should use good catholic names, and I hope it doesn't bother them too much. And the insult doesn't bother me either because I think my kid will be able to handle it. But it's been a funny couple of weeks on the name front.

Anonymity

FYI: we do not remain quasi-anonymous because we are afraid to put our names on what we say or because we think it gives us some rhetorical advantage for our insidious political agenda (<-----irony. The verbal kind. All the homeschoolers already knew this). We stay undercoverish as a matter of personal security. We live in small towns where anyone on the street could probably point an inquiring stranger to our houses. Given the nasty things that have been in the headlines in recent years about violence against pregnant ladies, we'd rather not have strangers who know exactly how pregnant we are show up on our porches. So if you know us, thanks for keeping it on the downlow. We also ask that all readers return the favor to our commenters and just address them by the names they offer here.

As I am the person who is probably least anonymous, it only seems fair to warn you that my husband maintains a rather large arsenal and for my last birthday purchased me a very stylish personal sidearm. I am comfortable firing this sidearm and pleased with my performance in terms of "minutes of man." It also has a really awesome laser grip on it so you'll know you're a goner. This sidearm is named after one of our readers. Can you guess which? I'll put up a poll later but I don't have time now.

Terminology

A while back Dr Heidenreich left some comments here that I enjoyed:

I'm afraid some of my common replies that talk about how we believe "children are blessings" fall far short . . . . The one I use the most is: "We believe in letting God plan our family." But that just comes across as naïve to people, if not wrongheaded fundamentalism - just "let go and let God." Blaahhgg!

Well said, sir. Well said. I feel exactly the same way. Don't get me wrong, I've got no end of respect for Michelle D., but when she smiles guilelessly at the interviewer and says, "We just believe children are blessings!" with those guileless eyes and that long guileless hair*, my guileful nose involuntarily wrinkles.

Seriously, this operation needs some non-platitudinous talking points FAST. Even my attempts to define the terms of CSPP make me roll my eyes: God-sized family? What is this, Heirs of the Anabaptist Sisters of Perpetual Parturition? Sorry, I tried to fix it. Blaahhgg!

Get on it, people. We're looking for something snappy. Epitome, not Solid Declaration. Use of the words "blessing" or "fruitful," references to arrows or quivers, or any suggestion of granting permission for an act of God Omnipotent constitutes an automatic disqualification.


*no cattiness intended. I have long hair.

Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition

Postulants: Unmarried women who intend to live as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition upon marriage, or married women who haven't brought it up to their husbands yet, or married women who still aren't sure even after their husbands spoke to them comfortably.

Novices: Newly married women living as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who have not yet become pregnant.

Temporarily Avowed: Married women living as a Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who lie awake at night.

Professed: Pam, Heidi, Karin, Dort, LaRena, Linda, Lauri, etc.

Secular Oblates: Married women who are living as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition but haven't really talked to their husbands about it. May withdraw at any time, what with the wild card husband.

Regular Oblates: De facto Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition who aren't quite sure why. While they may have never formally professed CSPP, they seem to be living as such. A regular oblate of CSPP probably has a husband who is on board but hasn't bothered to spell that out for her benefit.

Special Oblates

First Class: Novices to whom God does not give a child. They may assume this designation at whatever time they deem appropriate.

Second But Not Dishonorable Class: Married women who cannot live as Concordian Sisters of Perpetual Parturition but wish they could.

This needs to be a widget. Does anyone know how to build one? Or maybe we'll just have to settle for t-shirt. Maternity t-shirt. With nursing openings.

The naming of kids

The naming of kids is a difficult matter
It isn't just one of your holiday games
You'll know that their dad's a liturgical pastor
When I tell you our kids must have three different names
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily
Such as Isaac, Bartholomew, Amos, or James
Such as Rachel, Naomi, or Martha (not Bailey)
All of them catholic, Biblical names
Conceptual names can sometimes sound sweeter,
Since options are somewhat restricted for dames
Such as Kathryn, Charissa, Irene (though not Peter)
But all of them catholic, Biblical names
But I tell you, a kid needs a name to inherit
To anchor him well in his family of birth
So second, we borrow from Granddaddy Garrett
Or re-circulate Aunt Mae's name here on earth
For names of this kind we explore the ancestries
Searching the long generations within
How about Comfort? For a dude? No way, weirdo!
Names that belonged to our foregoing kin
But above and beyond there's still one name left over
And that is the name only church buffs can guess
The name that historical research discovers
The one our poor babies will never confess
When you notice our kids in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, may well be the same
Their minds are engaged in perplexed contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of their names

Their long, unpronounceable,
Saintly, Patristic,
Weird, ecumenical, fun-to-pick Names

Nomenclature

I've always thought that the Jews and the Amish are onto something in having a term that means "everybody but us" (goy/Gentile and English, respectively). I've often wanted one a little less cumbersome than "non-Lutheran," for example. And for our specific purposes, "contraceptor" or some other less savory options I've heard don't really strike me as something I want in my regular vocabulary.

As a solution, we've discussed in our household using the term "Sulvan" to designate the folks who just don't want to have babies, God bless 'em, from the third book of CS Lewis' Space Trilogy. Sulva is the name of the moon in the book, and its inhabitants have succeeded in making life almost entirely inorganic (and much more convenient as a result, of course). Later in the book you learn that some characters have botched up the solution to a pressing problem by using contraception and not having the baby who was supposed to fix things (see part of the discussion at the bottom of this post). Someone makes a comment about such behavior being a practice of Sulva. So there you have it: Sulvan. May it be as useful for you as it is for me.