April 4th, 2020. 10 pounds even. Bruised and swollen and late and perfect.
We talked about so many names but didn’t feel settled on anything. One night after the kids went to bed, I went for a walk alone around the block. I kept thinking we needed to choose a name that was fitting for this time. Something that meant peace or grace or healing.
And I thought, Luke. He was a physician. He had a different perspective than the other evangelists. He spoke more of the women, specifically of Mary, giving birth and pondering the events in her heart.
It was a good option.
There were a couple others we both felt good about. And when he was born, all the nurses asked what his name was, and we still weren’t quite sure yet. But once we were alone, it came easily.
“What do you think about Luke?” I asked David.
“Luke. I like that. Luke Joseph?” For his father’s father. I agreed quickly.
It fit. Simple. Solid. Significant. Just like this boy.
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