Naming
“See these bright yellow petals? This a flower… can you say flower? It is very pretty, isn’t it? That’s a doggie right over there…woof, woof!”
Ah, the joy of naming. I’ve spent many hours of these summer days with our son, just naming the things that we see.
This is a window (I’m thinking that needs to be cleaned) and we can see outside from here. This is a broom. We use it to sweep the floor. This is a toothbrush. We don’t use it to sweep the floor.
This wonderful process has reinforced my thinking about how important naming really is. When we give something a name we call out its worth and value with our words and tone. A flower is beautiful. Grandma is special. The fireplace is hot. What a privilege to be the one to introduce the things he sees and tell him their names. Whether it is a chair, a book, a toaster, or a friend, the names of things are shaping his world.
Now he’s gotten so accustomed to our “naming” that he will point to things (and not put his little chubby finger down) until I tell him what it is. I know this will probably stop one day when he thinks he knows the name of everything, but it is my first job as a tour guide of the world and I couldn’t be enjoying it more.
When I mentioned this to a woman friend of mine, who has far more experience with children, she pointed out that in this stage of a child’s life, a mother is not only a namer, she is also a narrator for her child.
When I was in plays in Jr. High and High School, I always loved the part of the narrator. This is usually a very important character (with a lot of lines) because they know what is really going on in the story and can help the audience understand. Sometimes they are the only one who can see the big picture. Everyone always wanted to be the narrator, including me. What a joy for me to get to play this role in our little boys life. I am narrating story of our days to him. We’re going to fly on an airplane today. Oh, you hurt your hand when you fell down. I saw what happened. The ground scraped it a little. I’m so sorry. I know it hurts, but I promise it will get better. He looks to me to put words to what is happening, sometimes as it’s happening, so he can understand. My voice is somehow reassuring to him and when I tell him a big truck just went by to pick up the trash and created that scary noise, he seems very content with my explanation.
And just when I hear myself saying something to my son, I hear God saying it so clearly to me. After all, isn’t God the ultimate narrator of our stories? And don’t we look to him for understanding and meaning when we can’t find it in our circumstances? He is not only the narrator he is the author and the ONLY one who can see the big picture and help us understand. When I am afraid, when things don’t make sense, when I’m hurting and not even sure why, I can often hear him narrating my experience… Oh, you were hurt by that person’s words weren’t you? I saw what happened. That wasn’t a very kind thing for someone to say, but Nicole, trust me, it will get better. His voice is somehow reassuring to me and I’m very content with his explanations.
Needless to say, I’m learning a lot as a mother…about myself, about my son, and about God.
Nicole
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