I’m an old man, relatively speaking. What that means, among other things, is that I’ve accumulated a lot of experiences and some of my faculties are less reliable than they once were. So before I forget, I have a story to tell. It’s an important story and one that members of my family should know, but I’m not sure I’ve ever told them. It has to do with the meaning of names and how life plays out…

My name is Marvin Thomas Smith. I’ve never really felt comfortable with my name and I’m not sure why. Marvin is the part that never felt just right. My dad’s name was also Marvin, but my parents always called me Tommy when I was young. “Marvin” means “the mariner” and associates the named person with the sea. As I write this I’m in Navarre, Florida, listening to the waves on the Gulf of Mexico pounding on the shore at 3:00 in the morning. I’ve spent all of my life on land, far from the sea. I like the ocean but it is very foreign to me and I can’t swim worth a damn.

I shortened “Tommy” to just “Tom” when I was in high school. I don’t recall how I accomplished that, other than introducing myself to people that way and hoping it would stick. Again, I really don’t remember why it was a big deal for me, but it was. “Thomas” means “the Twin”, which is weird because I’m just one person. I never had a brother or a twin. I had a sister, “Jodie”, who was five years older than me. Jodie is derived from Jody, Judy, Judith, all the way back to the Hebrew “Yehudt” which means “Praise”. My sister’s actual name was “Norma Jo” which came from my father’s middle name “Norman” referring to Norsemen or “from the north”.

My sister never seemed excited about having a baby brother. That’s understandable because I was a brat and very little enjoyment was to be had from my company. Yet, my mother, “Billie Jo”, told me that the five years between my sister’s birth and my own were years of longing for another child (this is the gist of my story) and never gave up that hope. My mother wanted me to know that she and my dad had hoped and prayed for me before I came along. That I was not an accident.

This gathering I’m presently attending is one of the few chances for everyone of my children and their families to be together for a few days and the only time, possibly the last time, to gather at a vacation spot like this house on the beach. We have planned it for months and looked forward to the time with great anticipation. But let’s face it — I’m not much fun to be around. I don’t have a lot of patience and I’m not very funny or entertaining. I’m awake right now writing this story because I now realize that the telling of it is the reason I’m here. I need to set the record straight and pass this story down to those that might remember it. So here’s the tale:

I never thought I would marry. After ruining several brief relationships I finally gave up and turned it over to God. There was nothing I wanted more than to be in a family, to find a wife and raise a family, but I was adrift in a sea of failure without any bearing as to where I should go or how to get there. I was tired of screwing everything up and disappointing everyone I knew. I quit. I finally accepted that it probably wasn’t going to happen and that was okay. I had a long struggle with faith, but I read the Bible, several versions, enough to know just to give it up to God and try to see what He set before me.

Then He sent me to Linda. Praise God. God clearly heard my prayer, knew my heart’s desire, and blessed me though I deserved it not. The Germanic source of “Linda” may mean “soft or tender”, but the Spanish meaning is “pretty”. Linda was and is beautiful. She is caring and wise. I’m not sure why God led her to suffering with the likes of me, but she has endured it and held fast through the worst of it so far. God bless her.

Linda already had Sam, though he was just a baby, when I met her. “Samuell” is derived from the Hebrew “shemuel” or “the name of God”. When I married Linda I had to become a surrogate father in a very short time and, once again, I had no idea how to do that. Truth is, I failed at both being a father and at being a husband. I was self centered, stupid, and often mean. Not cruel, I was never cruel, but a failure. I prayed about my failures. I asked for help, strength, and guidance. I didn’t give up and I tried to become better. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better person. It’s hard to do.

Linda was from a big family, we wanted to have more children. It wasn’t long before Sarah was born. Of course, “Sarah” means “princess” and her middle name “Elizabeth” means “God is my oath”. We have a lot of Hebrew names in the family. Like I said, my memory is becoming questionable, but some events are burned into memory more deeply than others — I clearly remember Sarah’s birth, the first I ever witnessed, and decided then and there that every teenage boy should be required to witness a birth before he can ever become sexually active. Really. (I would say girls should too, but I now realize men are way to involved in making decisions for women.) That requirement would probably be an effective form of birth control for most guys.

After Sarah was born, we tried to have another child for a long time. Linda miscarried twice and it broke my heart. I can’t imagine how much more it affected her. Not wanting her to endure that again, we took precautions (that means birth control) for a while, but eventually we concluded that we weren’t able to have another child. I always wanted another child. I know she did, too. It’s strange the places and times that the longing for a child strikes you. When I walked down the aisle of a grocery that had diapers or baby food, I would always think of what it would be like to have another baby. Oh well.

Which brings to story forward a few years to another vacation. Linda and I were “empty nesters” when Sarah went to college and we took a trip to Beaver’s Bend with one of her sisters and her sisters husband. We had a nice time and canoed down the river. Just before heading home we went out to eat at a restaurant (again, this is burned in my memory) where my devious wife brought up the question of what would it be like to have another baby “this late in life?” My in-laws’ reactions were immediate and certain – it would be awful, it would ruin everything. I remember very clearly say that I disagree. It would be an adventure, a blessing. When we said our goodbyes and got into our car for the drive home, Linda told me she was pregnant. I was happy. I was worried something might go wrong again, but happy — excited.

We spent more time than before picking out a name. Because of our age, the doctor did a lot of testing. So we knew our baby was a boy. One of the tests called for drawing some amniotic fluid to test for Down syndrome. We refused that test because of the potential risk. What was the point? Regardless of the outcome we were going to have the child anyway. It was all in God’s hands, so we prayed and hoped. Linda wanted to name him “Henry” so I jokingly said “Harley”, but I finally convinced her to continue the Bible name tradition by naming him “Nathaniel”. This name fit better than any other. It means”God’s gift”. That’s what my son was and is — a Gift from God. I thank God for His gift. For a long time, I resisted the shortening of his name to Nate because it somehow diminished the meaning of his name.

There haven’t been many times in my life that I knew God was putting something before me, not many times when I was sure of it. Having the conviction and courage to follow the path when I was sure it was set before me — that’s even more rare. When Nathaniel was only six or seven, God moved me to do something completely out of my character. I convinced Linda that we needed to adopt another child. Everyone argued against it. I’m not really any better at parenting now than I was when Sam was a baby, but I’m still trying. Our youngest son Tsegaye was clearly a blessing to our family from God. His name? It means “God’s grace.”

Last night, here by the sea, we celebrated the engagement of my grandson to his soon to be wife. It was also the anniversary of Sam and Stephanie’s wedding. Auspicious occasions both, and memories were made. But in the conversations that followed someone commented that Nathaniel was “an accident”. Now I’m the king of stupid statements, so I’m not trying to denigrate the one who made the statement. I don’t know who said it and I’m certain I’ve said far worse myself in the last few days. So I’m sure they didn’t mean it to be taken that way, but it was hurtful and factually incorrect. I’ve stayed up most of the night thinking and writing to try tell this story that should be important to our family. An “accident” implies more than “unintended”. It suggests that the results are less worthy than a planned and predicted outcome. That’s not a description of my son, Nathaniel, or a fitting description of any child. No child was more hoped for, loved, or valued than him. Regardless of how or when a child was conceived, they are a person of equal worth to all the rest of us.

Thank you, families everywhere, for loving and enduring. It isn’t easy or even common anymore to keep a family together. It takes commitment and compassion, forgiveness and endurance, it takes God, faith, oaths and gifts and grace.