Called By Name

I texted a picture to some friends and asked if they knew what these little white flowers are in my yard. I got a shrug emoji from one. “Weeds?” responded another.

And yes, I suppose they qualify as a weed. But then how do we define “weed”? Basically, a weed is a plant growing in our space that we don’t want, right?

And I decided I want this one. I sent the picture to the mother of the boy mowing my lawn (he’s too young for a phone, bless him) and said, “This may be weird . . . but I really like these. Can Javie not mow them down this week?” And he honored my request.

So, I have a few patches of these little white flowers around the periphery of my backyard – along the fence and by the house. While I was sitting outside reading (which I have more time to do now that school is out and it isn’t raining every day), I realized that they were bringing me joy. So, no, they are no longer a weed in my book.

But I still didn’t know what to call them.

I am NOT into plants. I mean, I love being out in nature, but I stink at keeping stuff alive and pretty. That’s why I have all artificial plants in my house (except for a couple potted items I got from students at the end of the school year . . . which I am desperately hoping to not kill, Lord help me). 

So I don’t know why I was suddenly taken with the desire to know what this little white flower is called. But I had heard of apps that will identify plants for you, so I Googled and found one. PlantNet. It’s free. I took a picture, and it gave me a name: hedge parsley. Is it weird that I suddenly had an image of a little old lady like the ones who gave me peppermints in church when I was little? Miss Hedge Parsley. Dainty, sweet, hanging around the periphery of my life just adding some delight to the world.

(Now, for you plant people who are about to tell me this is something I do NOT want in my yard . . . yes, I did more research and figured that out. Rest easy. Don't get distracted from my point.)

That plant app is easy to use and kind of interesting, so I went out in the field behind my house and started clicking pictures and getting names for some of my other botanical neighbors. Mexican Hat. Indian blanket. Silverleaf nightshade. Maltese centaury. Texas purple thistle. Lilac chastetree. It helps that it’s still the tail-end of wildflower season in Texas and Lady Bird Johnson helped ensure that we have a plethora adorning our byways.

And they all have names.

I recently mentioned a children’s play I wrote about sheep. At the end of the play, the main character tells her flock about how the shepherd found her and brought her back after she rebelliously and ungratefully tried to escape the pen. “I was so ashamed,” she says. “He’s going to call me despicable. Loathsome! Repugnant! Worthless! 

"But you know what he called me? He called me . . . Felicia. He called me by my name. 

"He knows me. And he wants me anyway.”

My writing of that little speech was completely Spirit-inspired. It was like I was taking dictation. I had to put the laptop down when I was done and cry for a little bit – I didn’t know that’s where this was going, Lord! And I cried every time the actress said the line in a rehearsal or performance. The words still make me emotional.

The Good Shepherd knows his sheep and calls them by name. John 10:3 tells me so. Even if I’m just a troublesome pest of a weed to the rest of humanity, he knows my name and calls me by it.

He knows me. And he wants me anyway. Oh, the wonder of it.