To Hear My Name

Mr. Boy is almost two. 

He's in that charming stage when the vocabulary is expanding by the day while the pronunciation is adorably inaccurate. He's learning all the words he finds important first…  Tea (which is any drinkable liquid). Eat. Dump Truck. He knows many, many words that he can't yet say, but he can point to them. And for every word he needs but doesn't know, there's always a sound effect to fall back on. 

He's got his family members all sorted out.

His sisters are "SeeSee" and "Didi" and they go on the "rrrrrrrRRRRRrrmmmmththbtbtbt!!!" every day to school. "Dah-ee" puts on his "shew" and his "hatch" and goes out to fly his "sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhffffffhheewwwwwwwww!!!" Everyone's sorted out. 

Everyone except me.

Mr. Boy doesn't say my name. He doesn't say "mama" or even "mah." He doesn't seem to know what to call me. 

The other day, The Captain asked him, "Do you want to go for a bike ride?

"Yeah!" he cheered.

"Okay, can you say bye-bye to Mommy?"

He blew a kiss. "Bye-bye, Dump Truck."

I guess I should feel pretty special since dump trucks are THE best thing ever in his mind.

We do baby roll call occasionally to see if he can say all of our names. The Captain points to each of us and says, "Who's that?" Mr. Boy will say each name in turn. He'll even point to himself and say "Beebee!" 

Then The Captain points to me and says, "Who's that?" 

Mr. Boy smiles. "Wassat?"

"This is Daddy. Now who is this?"

Another smile. "Kweekwee bastutat!"

"No, this is Mama. Can you say, 'Mama'?"

Huge smile this time. "Dubai! Wee-shweebee-dat!" 

"No. MAHH-MA." The Captain enunciates slowly while pointing at me.

"BEEEEE-BEE." Mr. Boy mimics in the slow drawl while pointing at himself. 

I look into his big blue eyes. "Buddy, don't you want to say, 'Mama'?"

He leaps into my arms and says "Awwwwww." He hugs my neck and pats my hair with his grubby little palms. I'll take it.

What is it about this, though? Why does it matter to me so much?

I know my little guy loves me. I see it in the smiles and the hugs. I see it when he drags out a huge board book and backs into my lap. I see it when he looks intently into my face after I've been crying and strokes my cheek, earnestly assuring me that "we tree ba tabba tot, she kweekweesheeshee." I appreciate that. Especially since it's so true. 

But I want to hear him say my name. 

It's not that I'm dissatisfied with my son. I love him to pieces no matter what he calls me. I wouldn't love him more if he got this right. It's just a hole that will have to wait to be filled. It's a tiny hole with a tiny sadness inside it, but it's there. And that sadness isn't being wasted, because I think I just understood something about God my Father…

He loves to hear me say his name. In fact, he asks me to!

Oh give thanks to the LORD; call upon his name;

make known his deeds among the peoples!

Sing to him, sing praises to him;

tell of all his wondrous works!

Glory in his holy name;

let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice!

Psalm 105:1-3

The name of the LORD is a strong tower;

the righteous man runs into it and is safe.

Proverbs 18:10

Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name;

worship the Lord in the splendor of his holiness.

Psalm 29:2

The name of the Lord is a big deal in the Bible, and rightly so. 

We should call on his name, often and loudly. Because it's a wonderful name, deserving of praise. Because it's a safe place to rest our hearts. Because he deserves it. And, I think, because he loves to hear his children say his name. I'm going to go say his name to him right now... because now I know how much it will warm his heart.