No indeed--he shall be called John

         Baby soul, already so sensitive to the moving of the LORD, how will I ever let you go?  Coming so late in my life, you have brought before-unknown honor on my grey head.  I don’t know what your face looks like, yet I love you already.  You will be a mighty man, I know, one of the righteous prohpets.  Yes, I know you will be all the angel said you would be.  My God cannot lie.  You will be long-remembered, my son, and your life will be a testimony to the greatness of our God.
            Oh, my child—will I live to see you blossom into all that you will be?  Will your father?  Already his gait has slowed and his back has stooped.  His eyes have weakened; his hearing has dimmed.  I feel the same aches and pains in my own body.  Even now, as I bear you, I wonder if I will even be able to endure your delivery.  I ache to see and memorize your long-awaited face.  But if this is not to be, I know these things.
            You will be great in the sight of the LORD, and you will drink no wine or liquor, and you, already, have been filled with the Holy Spirit!
            You will turn many of the sons of Israel back to the LORD our God.  It is you who will go before the LORD in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers back to the children, as said the prophet Malachi, and the disobedient to the attitude of the righteous, so as to make ready a people prepared for the LORD.
            So told the angel to your father.  The words are seared into his memory, and imprinted on my own heart.
            I thrill to these words, telling me who my son will be, yet I also fear them.  It is not an easy road you will walk; it is paved with trouble, as were the ways of the prophets of old.  Nonetheless, my son, I know you will walk it well.  You can do no less.
            Above what the angel promised us, you must know something else.  I love you, dear child, already with a tenderness and passion which frighten me.  No matter if I live to glimpse your face, I love you even now.  Do not ever forget this, even as you do not forget who the LORD has called you to be.
            I feel you stirring within me, little one, and the movement floods me with joy.  You are the LORD’s, yes, but for now . . . you are mine.
            My darling son (my son! words I’d believed I’d never be able to say)—how I long to meet you!  Know this—you are much beloved, much desired, long awaited, and chosen by God.  The next few months cannot pass quickly enough.

Your impatient mother,
                        Elizabeth

Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer . . .
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
~Shel Silverstein

I love this poem so much, but not, I think, for its face value.  I think what it is that attracts me so much to these few lines is the simple warmth exuded from each word.  "So what?" it seems to say.  "I don't care who you are, what you've done, where you've been.  Do we share this passion and desire for story?  Then let us be brothers."

It seems to be akin to what Jesus says to all of us.

"So what?" I wish I could say, with the same abandon and recklessness.  "I don't care who you are, what you've done or are doing, where you've been or you're heading.  We share the common bond of humanity; I know your weakness, for it is in me, also.  Do we share the burning desire to be freed from our weaknesses?  Then let us be brothers . . . and let me share with you the hope and freedom I have been given . . ."

Unfortunately, my own weakness, so often, trips me up and builds walls of distrust and dislike.

I wish this warm, invitational, dangerous love was as simple as the poem makes it sound.