Unlike your brother’s name which we decided at 40 weeks pregnant, I had a feeling about your name before we ever had kids. Your dad and I thought of it together, and have whispered it to each other periodically over the last 4 years whenever we wanted to imagine something lovely. You were a thought planted a long time ago, a little seed that’s grown into a reality I can hardly believe.
Your full first name, Arlene, is a derivative of Charles, which connects you to your brother. That’s a coincidence actually, but you will see how much influence brothers have even unintentionally. You will be gifted from birth something Wesley had to wait for, a companion.
It is not always easy to love boys. Sometimes he will make it seem perfectly natural, other times you will want to write him off as hopeless. You came second, and it will be your job to teach him that this does not mean you are second to him. It will be his job to teach you how meaningful it can be to choose to be second to others.
After carrying your brother, he left bits and scraps of his DNA behind in me. This DNA has found its way into your forming. No matter how hard it may be at times, love your brother, he is part of you. You will never find another friend as worthwhile or long-lasting.
Arley—
Your first name comes from your great great paternal grandmother. I never met her, and this shows that a legacy is an immeasurably profound thing one can leave behind. You may not be famous, but your life can give historical context and be a comfort to those you meet and those you never will. You may never know the full harvest of your choices in this life; hers still yield new fruit.
It’s hard to say exactly why a few stories about Arley Jackson left such an impression on me. From what I know, she was short yet consequential, uneducated yet known for her wisdom, female yet revered for her toughness. She did not fear the snakes of this world. She had a long life yet held a steady vision of the afterlife. She found meaning in the rearing and tending of all kinds and of all people. She persevered. She was survived by an absurd number of family members, who adore her.
One of those was her granddaughter, your grandmother. And it’s as much because of her impression of her Grandma Arley that we chose that name, as it was because of Arley herself. She remembers an unearthly wisdom. A wisdom you do not gain from an education. You will see in your grandmother what she saw in hers, I am confident. And that will be a window into a heritage we hope you will continue, one of prayer, perseverance, and a mind with seemingly endless insight. That you would continue a trend: that many would look to you for wisdom when they are anxious, that your home would be filled with generations of respect, that you would not fear the times you were made in, because you would know what is made and who is maker.
Your great great grandma Arley survived the Dust Bowl I’m told. And while we didn’t plan it and couldn’t avoid it, you were born into a pandemic. I have been praying you too will not fear the times you were made in, because you will know what is made and who is maker.
Lavonne—
Your middle name, Lavonne, is a very personal gift. It belongs to my Grandma. And as you will see, a Grandma plays a very special part in the shaping of a woman.
I think after my brother, my grandmother was my second closest friend in early childhood. Trying to parse out favorite memories or characteristics seems nearly impossible. She was, and is, a dream of a Grandmother.
She taught me to sing my way through life, in silly abandon, and few things have served my spirit so well. She was a farm girl who missed a year of high school due to tuberculosis and then won valedictorian. She loves to visit with people, and she remembers good visits for a very long time, in detail. She knows how to form a good ritual: when I stayed the night at her house growing up we would always do a devotional together by the window and eat poached eggs and toast. She knows how to make things special: we pulled out lawn chairs and ate frozen grapes while watching summer lightning storms together. She has a light kindness in her voice that seems unearthly, and life has often not treated her kindly or lightly. She has persevered through loneliness that dwarfs what most endure. She showed my mom how to be one of the best moms. She showed her how to enjoy motherhood to the fullest, a gift I carry with me every day.
But what I hope most you will learn about her, is that she taught me the value of storytelling.
She tells me great stories and always has and I wish I could write them all down for you, just in case, but I’m trying my hardest to remember them. Over the years some stories have left lasting impressions, like the connection a daughter can feel for a father. The importance of finding a partner who makes you laugh. And that spending the precious time you have on people, will fill your days with laughter and meaningfulness. She tells me all the time, without saying it outright, how important people are to her: she remembers their full names, where they’re from, and nearly everything they’ve told her about themselves. She spends her memory on people; always has. She remembers things about me that I don’t, even at ages when I might have.
She does not sugarcoat, and she always tells the story as it is to her. So should you. That means all the sad parts, the mistakes, the forgiveness, and the happy endings, whichever might be harder for you to include.
Daughter, much of a woman’s life is spent trying to figure out who she is and why she’s here. It’s a long journey. On many days it involves ignoring what people say you have to be. But I hope it will be something we do together. I hope I can learn who you are alongside you. I hope you’ll let me know you.
And I hope you’ll learn how to tell a story well like your Grandma Berry; that you’ll spend your life collecting all the right elements by pursuing deep relationships, as she has. I hope you’ll know that a woman made in God’s image is a storyteller.
I hope you’ll be like your great great grandma Arley, that your mind will be sharp like a surgical tool, not a weapon, one that uses wisdom to care and parse out made from maker for those around you.
I hope you’ll learn from these women’s stories and persevere through your own, whether through epic storms of weather, loneliness, tiny virus molecules, or something else entirely.
This is where your name came from, and your starting place.
Love, Mom
_______
Water spilled from a Memory of Dust
Arlene Lavonne:
I did not want this name for you
because of the words,
but instead
because of the people.
All words are for people
to people
or through people.
Two names, four women.
Arlene for Arley:
the woman with the stubbornly subtle smile,
the woman who jumped rope at 90,
jogged till 97,
rode a stationary bike till she passed away,
one century old.
She was survival at its finest,
a quiet joy drawn from Dust Bowl drama
in the belly of a land
too ambitious to remember its poverty.
She was survived by so many,
a quiet contribution drawn from dust
to dust, kicking up dozens
of souls
on her way home.
Lavonne:
the woman with the indelible grace,
the stories so full and long of love,
the woman who raised her children well
even when alone,
unfazed by the turbulence of promises
and time.
She is still with us,
hanging on perhaps to meet you,
perhaps to keep telling stories
to your mother,
a quiet contribution cached from memory
to memory, planting seed
after seed
on her way home.
Your mother:
She wanted this name for you.
She is more honest than most
about the lonely strength required
so much more of women
than men.
She is both storyteller and survivor,
that thick substance some call wisdom -
it flows so visibly behind her eyes.
Take the name for her sake;
her love of humble human history;
her quiet contribution cast from thirst
to thirst, drawing drink
after living drink
on her way home.
And you:
My longed for Darling,
my companion created so different yet still
from my DNA...
daughters must be born into some form
of determination
from their fathers.
There is no escaping
the grand opportunity
or the giant danger
that lies in ambush for you
here.
But I do not fear,
"though the earth give way
and the mountains be moved into the sea."
May your name guide you.
May you know the breadcrumb trail,
the strengths
the stories
the souls
strewn behind you.
Look over your shoulder often, dear;
see the quiet contributions,
Water spilled from a Memory of Dust,
poured from Father
to mothers, inverting Earth
after broken Earth:
this is your only
way
home.
Love, Dad
