In this new year, I’m excited about the upcoming publication of I Have Been Assigned the Single Bird, my latest book, and about my work as the incoming President of the Friends of St. Vincent National Wildlife Refuge. 

But for opening my heart, I’m counting on Asa.

Two weeks ago, Jeff and I traveled to Los Angeles to meet our 3-day-old grandson.  The sleep habits of a newborn generally don’t align with those of his parents, just recovering from labor and delivery. So for a week, from 7 to 10 a.m. each morning, Asa was ours.

Our son David would tread down the stairs and hand over the tiny child into our care. It was dark outside, and the windows were gray.  Asa would wake, look into our eyes, and then tumble back into sleep.

You could think of a million things to do to help a new family: start a load of wash, walk the dog, prepare breakfast. Instead, we took turns lying on the couch with Asa, and watched him surf sleep, quiescent to rousing to quiescent again.

He rose and fell on my diaphragm.  My heart beat against his back.  I studied the furrow where forehead dips into nose, found his mother’s face in the shape of his, and his father’s mouth. His brow lifted, and I noticed that his eyelids were still aquatic, puffy with the work of covering his eyes in the womb. His ears were perfect whorls.  His face is a dish, the original receiver of connection.

Over the hours, the birds woke and the light grew and made patterns on the front door and the interior walls. The baby slept.

Jeff tucked the fleecy blanket over Asa’s shoulder. I hadn’t seen it slip. We whispered in the dark about the shapes of our own newborns’ faces, but really there was nothing but this one now and here.

We wondered when he’d surface to demand his mother’s milk.  Finally, his breath quickened, and he sighed and stretched his neck, the beginning of rooting for the breast.

I said:  “Look, I think he is smiling!”  Jeff’s opinion was that the baby’s face simply reflected the waking up of his digestive tract, so new to its work.  Either way, in that child’s face I see inspiration and courage for the work we must go home and resume: to evolve with our species into better beings on this planet.  For the sake of every newborn of every species, waiting for their chance to live.

Eight days after Asa’s birth, family and friends gathered in a sunny backyard for a traditional naming ceremony to welcome him into his human community.  David and Hannah spoke, holding the baby swaddled in their arms:

We were drawn to the name Asa, an uncommon but not unusual name of Hebrew origin.  Its simple, palindromic construction feels like a solid foundation upon which he can build whatever identity he chooses. We also were happy to learn that its meaning is ‘healer’ or ‘physician,’ as a family that values science and rationalism. 

In choosing a second Hebrew name, Adam, we wanted to capture our desire for the well-being of the planet to play a role in our son’s life.

In the challenging new world that he’s entering, we want him to not only be a healer of people, as the name Asa signifies, but also a healer for the planet who will leave the world a better place. As Rabbi Jocee explained to us, the name Adam comes from the root word meaning earth, and so suggests that all humans are inextricably linked to the soil.  Adam, the name given to the first human, is best translated as ‘earth being.’ For this first child in a new generation in our family, as well as within our circle of friends, we think this is an auspicious name for him, setting the tone for all the responsible earth dwellers to follow.

We, his grandparents, will help make it be so.

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