Naming Number Five

by Cindy Keyser

Number Five. That’s what my dad called the baby growing inside me. He had waited long enough for us to decide on a name. This baby would be his fifth grandchild, but the name stuck for all of us until the day he was born: Number Five.

It really wasn’t until that day that my husband and I finally chose a name. It was so important to me that his name mean something—that it would express the hope we had for him, and the hope that he was giving us. Number Five would be our third child, but it was the first time that we knew early on that he would be a boy. It seemed like it would have been so much easier if he was to be a girl. We could have simply named him Hope or Faith or Grace. But the ultrasound picture was clear that we would be blessed with a boy, so I continued to struggle.

Simon made the short list. “Simon Peter answered [Jesus], ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68). Much of this discussion took place during Advent, so Gabriel—the one who announced the coming of our Lord—made the list too. A friend suggested Benjamin. That was a close second to the name we finally chose. What do we know about Benjamin? He was loved. Perhaps, we thought, we will know when he’s born that he needs an extra reminder of just how much he is loved. But the loud cry he gave when he was pulled from my body was strong and confident. And in that moment, it was crystal clear to Eric and me both—Levi.

Levi was Jacob’s third son with his first wife, Leah. In Hebrew the name means “joined.” But it was Levi’s legacy that sealed the deal for us. The tribe of Levi would become the priestly line of our biblical ancestors. Our little Levi would be born into a family of “priests” too. His great-grandfather, his grandfather, his mother—we are all Lutheran pastors. Whether he becomes a pastor someday or not, I hope that his name will be a reminder to him of the loving God his family has been called to serve.

I think Levi’s grandfather would have approved of the choice. I only wish we could have figured it out in time to tell him. He died just three weeks and six days before Levi was born. I had hoped and prayed so desperately that my father would have been able to hold his Number Five, just once. And I feel confident that part of the reason he lived as long as he did was because he held out that hope too.

Three years earlier, my dad had been diagnosed with cancer. From the moment the doctor told us the news, the lives of my whole family were changed forever. My father was now a cancer patient. For the next two and a half years he would undergo treatment after treatment. He would suffer all the effects of both the disease and the remedy—weight loss, fatigue, sickness, weakness, sadness, anger… Finally, the side effects from the treatments became too much. He decided to stop. We knew the cancer had spread, but we were all looking forward to having him feeling better, at least for a while. Right around that time, I found out I was pregnant. I will never forget the surprise and excitement and the tears of joy in his eyes as we told him the news.

Despite the sickness and the treatments, he continued to be Grandpa—looking forward to the grandchild on the way, playing with my children and my sister’s when he was able, cheering at their school events and ball games. And through it all he always remained my dad, proud of the daughter who had followed in his footsteps and comforting me with his strong faith. (I have kept an email in my inbox dated about a month after his diagnosis that reads only, “Fear not.”)

My dad was always a man of great faith. He lived it. His trust in our gracious God shaped and inspired me until the day he died, as it still does. I learned of God’s love not only through my father’s love for me, but through his witness of love for others. I still remember with fondness the pastoral visits I made with him when I was just a little girl. As long as he was a pastor, those visits were so important to him. His care for others, his deep commitment to social justice, and his joy at being called to ordained ministry were all ways that he lived and shared his faith.

But as time passed in the three years after his cancer diagnosis, it seemed to grow even stronger. Actually, I’m not sure if his faith deepened or if he just talked about it more. I suspect it was both. What I do know is that my dying father’s faith gave me strength during that very painful time. His conviction that he was loved infinitely by our God who so loved the world, our God who gave the only Son, gave me and my whole family hope and comfort and even some peace in the midst of our cancer-induced chaos.

But even that hope didn’t make it okay that my son’s grandpa might never get to hold him. That is, until my dad put it into perspective. A few days before he died, when he was no longer able to speak much, my mother told me about a conversation they had recently had. He knew he would not meet Number Five in this lifetime. But, my mother told me, he had made peace with that fact knowing they would be together in God’s kingdom. And maybe, he thought, in the absence of earthly time, he would even meet his new grandchild before the rest of us.

Again, my dad’s God-given faith carried me. But it wasn’t until later that I recognized how many important moments my father and my unborn son had already shared. I recalled the times that I sat with him at his bedside, while Number Five made his presence known with some powerful hiccups that made my belly bounce. I remembered that each time I hugged my frail father, his grandson was right there between us. And I thank God that in the last moments before he died, Number Five was there. As I spoke words of blessing over my father on his deathbed, just as he had blessed me at my baptism, his grandson was there, hovering over him, blessing us all with the gift of new life. And shortly after he passed, I thought to myself, “What’s his name, Dad?”

Cindy Keyser is currently serving as Pastoral Associate at Christ Lutheran Church in Roanoke, Virginia. She and her husband enjoy cheering on their older two sons (Numbers 3 and 4) at their many sporting events and trying to keep up with Number 5, who is now a very active 2-year-old.