Could Be Jellylorum

Surely every fan of T S Eliot wonders what their own three names may be if they've read this poem:

The Naming of Cats

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
   It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
   Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey -
   All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
   Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter -
   But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
   A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep his tail perpendicular,
   Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
   Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum -
   Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
   And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
   But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
   The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
   Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
       His ineffable effable
       Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name. 

- T.S. Eliot
   (from "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats")

I think God also has a new name for each of His people - just as he renamed Sarai, Abram, Saul of Tarsus, and Simon Peter. I am so glad God knows my name: Isaiah 43:1 ~ But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel; "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine." 


This call must be by a somehow bigger or deeper name than we use here for each other, in the John 10 passage  (verse 3) we read that the sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. There is a unique response to that call.


And just as when a married woman takes her husband's name as her own, somehow believers wear God's name, Jeremiah 15:16 ~ Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O LORD, God of hosts.


Challenge to myself: delight in the sweetness of God's words, and in the ineffable effable effanineffable name by which He alone calls me.

Stuck in Neutral

Long time since I've done a book review, but here goes. I read the young adult book Stuck in Neutral by Terry Trueman. It is a very quick read and rather compelling. Shawn is 14 years old, completely disabled, and convinced his father is planning to kill him, yet Shawn has no way to communicate or do anything for himself. 


I really can't say if I like this book or not or if I would recommend it or not. I know I would not read it to any but the hardiest of children. There were parts that creeped me out (crept me out?) and also some parts I liked and found life-affirming. 


I was interested in Shawn's story because two of the Bananlets have significant cognitive disabilities and I am always trying to understand what life might be like for them or for others with even greater needs. The glory of this book is that it gives hope that even in cases that seem the most profoundly hopeless, we just do not know what sort of life is really there but is invisible to us because of inability to communicate. My favorite paragraph challenged me to reconsider what pleasures would be remain to someone completely disabled:

I love my mom, brother, sister, dad. Although I can't connect with things through my senses, there is an energy inside me and around me; somehow all the things I think about and remember turn to joy. Pure joy: favorite movies, paintings I've seen and loved, music on compact discs, pinecones, chocolate pudding, the taste of smoked oysters (thank you, Paul!) the sound of motors, a bright-red 1966 Ford Mustang. I love the  idea of books and the dusty smell of them on bookshelves, the scent of Comet in a stainless steel sink. I think of the way, on cool mornings in November, the sun pours in through my window, and covers my hands. I think about my baths every night with Mom dripping warm water from a big soft sponge down my back, the hairbrush passing through my hair after the tangles are all gone, all of it turning to joy. Life can be great, even for me. Even for me.