Portia's Gift

We stood there not believing what we had just witnessed! This four-year-old girl who hadn't figured out her ABC's and couldn't count past fifteen just rattled off the names and exact birth order of her nineteen siblings and herself! More than that, she was talking about the time before her birth like you or I would talk about having just come from the mall. And I didn't have to ask who or what the 'big warm hug' was. (Neither do you!) But the thing that disturbed me most was that Connie/Portia seemed to know all about her unborn brothers and sisters! That was something I wanted her to talk some more about!

"Portia, honey. You said you were in the in between place. What's that?"

"The place between here and there. But I'm not there anymore… It's getting smaller now, harder to remember."

"Why?"

"Daddy! You are so silly! I got my name so now I can be happy here. That's why it gets real small like when our house gets small when we're in the bus. You know, daddy! You know it's there, but you can't see it any more. Like that."

"You mean when we go on a trip?"

"That's right! We're all on a trip away from home, daddy. But we can't have fun unless home gets real small. Can I wave goodbye?"

"To whom, pumpkin?" asked Nancy.

"To all our family in the before place, mommy."

"Who's that, Portia?" I asked.

"To my brother Peter – he's fun to play with. To your daddy, daddy. He says you still waste too much wood. To my children and all the others. Can I wave goodbye before I'm gone?"

Stunned by what this small child was saying, it took me a moment to register that she had asked me a question.

"Yes… sweetheart! By all means, wave goodbye…"

Portia then did a little pirouette with her arm raised and her tiny right hand vigorously moving back and forth through the silent air. Then she stopped, brought her arm down and looked at me.

"Can I have some birthday cake now?"

And that was it. Like one of our Midwest thunderstorms, this thing Portia had dumped on us had passed – for her – just as quickly as it had come. The only change (besides our astonishment) was that in this storm's wake, we now had a normal little girl whereas before had been this somber and distant waif. And when you asked her now about the 'before place' all you got for your trouble was this odd look on her face and the line, "I don't remember."

As I finish writing this story, that event is now two weeks distant. At first, we all tried to laugh it off as if it were some kind of game that Portia had made up. But the fact that we were now calling her 'Portia' instead of 'Connie' or 'Constance' made it very clear that this was no game. And the odd thing is… Not once in the past two weeks has anyone come up to me to ask me if it's ok to call her 'Portia'. We never discussed it – not even we parents! We just knew that it was the right thing to do.

If this business with Portia's name had been it, I might never have bothered writing down any of this. I would have found a way to rationalize away Nancy's switching of her name and Portia's finding out about it. That almost happened. For me, however, the last straw was the naming ceremony we had a week ago for Vivian's baby. Portia's statement about the baby's name was in the back of our minds. I know we held that ceremony just to see if the name picked from the hat would be 'David' or some other name. Nancy asked Portia what her choice was. She thought for a moment and then said:

"Jacob! I like Jacob!"

Either she had completely forgotten about the events at her birthday party, or she was playing a game to see if we would correct her. Nancy looked at me for guidance. I just nodded my head and said:

"If that's what she wants… Write it down and drop it in."

So, twenty-five slips of paper – I chose the name Andrew – were dropped into our naming hat. I very calmly mixed them up without looking and then handed the hat to Vivian. She closed her eyes and picked. As she lifted her hand away, I noticed that she had grabbed two slips by mistake.

"You've got two, honey. Let one go."

And so, one fell back into the hat. Vivian opened her eyes and then the slip of paper.

"David," she said with a voice of shocked incredulity. "Who picked that name?"

"I did, mommy," said Dorothy.

"But you were told not to pick that name, honey. Why did you?"

"What!" I exclaimed. "Why was she told not to pick that name?"

"Don't be upset, Peter," my sister said. "We (indicting my wives) talked it over and decided that we didn't want Portia choosing the names for us. So we asked the children to choose a name other than David. We all did, too. Dorothy, why did you break your promise?"

"Mommy, I wanted to… I really did. But just before I wrote down my choice, this voice came into my head and told me that his name was David and that I should write that name on my piece of paper. I'm sorry!"

"Don't be, Dot," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong. We're going to call him David."

"But, Peter…" my sister began.

"No, Viv," I said with a touch of anger in my voice. "That's the rule: whatever name comes out of the hat is the name of the child. Besides, I'm not sure if we've ever really chosen any of their names."

"What do you mean, Peter?" asked Miranda. "We've always chosen…"

"No, Andi! I'm beginning to realize that this tradition has been given to us to let us know what the child's name already is! Portia didn't choose David's name and neither did Dorothy."

"But what do we do about the others? Do we forget the naming ceremony and just go with what Portia said?" asked Darla.

"I think Peter's right, girls," said Alice. "I don't think it matters one way or the other. If we choose to still hold the naming ceremonies, we'll just get confirmation of Portia's predictions."

And so, as of 4:30 AM today, August 4, 2005, I have twenty-one children; the twenty-first being my son David Errol Jones. Mother and child are resting comfortably at home. David, like his siblings before him, seems healthy and hale – except for having to spend a few hours under the bili light. In a few months, we'll know if Brian turns out as healthy as his brother. In two months, Nancy will have her first ultrasound done, but we all agree: 'twins' is the foregone conclusion. We haven't told her OB doctor, though.

We all continue to be blown away by Portia and her inadvertent opening of a window into a part of our lives we have all apparently forgotten – or, rather, a part we were made to forget. Is it really like she says: we forget about our true home so we can live in the present here on earth? Unbelievable! And even more unbelievable: before we take that first breath of air into our lungs, we come here already knowing who our parents are… who our brothers and sisters are… who our spouses are… even who our children are! We know this because our relationship with our families begins long before the promise of this life is realized. And if what I'm telling you doesn't sound crazy enough, then you should know that it is an atheist – or, should I say, a soon-to-be ex-atheist – writing these words.

I used to think my life was just a happy accident. God didn't exist. It was a convenient conceit to have given the unconventional lifestyle I led. Portia's gift has thankfully flushed that idea down the drain. And while I'm not exactly certain what's replacing it, I am strangely comforted (and frightened) by the knowledge that something larger than myself – a big, warm hug as Portia put it – has known about me and how my life would be played out… and, still, I was allowed to come here!

In three days, we are going to church with my son Ethan and his wife – all of us except for Vivian and David, that is. And when they are ready, they will come too. I've told Ethan's pastor to expect us. He said he wasn't sure how his other parishioners would accept a family of polygamists in their midst. I told him we are coming to learn more about God's family because we already knew about ours. He said he would pass that along to the others.

Earlier today, I asked Portia if she could remember anything about how she got to become a member of our family. She smiled at me and said,

"Yes, daddy. Because our family loves the bestist!"

Maybe that's the answer to the question that began this strange tale. Maybe that's why I'm inhabiting this odd life: because we love the best. We do do that! But, I've come to realize that it isn't something we've achieved as much as it's an opportunity given to us. It's a gift – like our names and our lives. And the big warm hug expects us to use those gifts of life and name to love those around us as best we can. If being part of God's family means not wasting the gift of love, then I'd say we have a leg up on most families. I guess we owe that to God. But for giving us the chance to know whom to thank: that's Portia's gift.

Disclaimer: This is a work of truthful fiction. If that sounds like an oxymoron to you, then you need to refresh yourself as to the difference between fact and truth.