I had a new granddaughter during the height of the pandemic here. She has the name of one of my most favorite aunts. That aunt passed away from colon cancer shortly after I lost a baby to ectopic pregnancy. Aunt E told my mom that she would talk to Jesus about it and to tell me not to give up hope. I didn't, but I also never had that second child I longed to hold. Having a baby in heaven, okay, but I wanted the physical baby. Over time, I logged that comment of Aunt E away with so many others, somebody being nice, trying to be encouraging, but not something to base my faith on or to lose my faith over. I had a warm feeling about Aunt E because I knew that she wanted me to have another baby. She understood. God said "no."
My son and daughter in law kept their names for the new baby close to the vest. They didn't consult me, didn't encourage any input from me. I decided that the baby name being a complete surprise would be a good thing. I would love that new baby even if they named her Tawwannadawnadingdong (and if that is your name I apologize, I was just trying to write a name that nobody would have). I stayed with the grandson while his folks were bringing the baby into the world. I got a text from my son late in the night with the baby's name. Tears came unbidden from my eyes. The name they unknowingly chose was Aunt E's name. My son had no memory of Aunt E. So, Aunt E did talk to Jesus and the perfect plan was for this baby I get to hold and love be my grandchild, not my child. It seems right. She is a miracle.
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