Faraón Muller says that
when he gets to heaven
he wants his New Name to be
Ninja Maliante,
if he can't have that
he'll accept Rambo.
Before opening my eyes this morning my ears informed me that Wednesday was dawning with showers. That was good for an extra 15 minutes of semi-conscious slumber. My next glimpse revealed a silvery light glinting off wet leaves outside my window. I heard heavy dripping on cement. The rain
had passed. It was going to be a day of transition back to the rainy pattern. We went out this morning with rubber boots to the 4 de Mayo school to sing and tell Bible stories to the children. I didn’t want to get my only pair of shoes wet in case we got stuck in a downpour. The boots came in very handy as props as Nutie and I sang the song “Walking with Jesus” in English and Spanish, choreographed with a little hop step at the end of each line. I borrowed the little “dance move” from a classic cartoon I used to love when I was a kid: a simple bit of early Warner Brothers animation in which a sad-looking crow paces around with his wings/hands clasped behind his back, doing that same little hop to some somber music. That’s all I remembered of the cartoon. The 4 de Mayo children squealed with delight as they imitated it.
Later I talked about names; the tender nicknames Miskito parents tend to give to their children when they are little. I told them how Brian’s Mom and I had nicknamed him “Bulwan”, meaning “rounded” when he was born, and that my Dad had called me Tom-mouse because I was so tiny. I also told them about the Miskito penchant for giving others “nina saura,” humorously unkind nicknames that are kept secret from the person tagged. I held my breath until my ruddy face glowed crimson and asked the children to guess what one of my nini saura was, the answer being Wahsi Piakan--Boiled Shrimp. The children giggled with delight and their teachers--there were five of them in the room--clasped their hands over their mouths, looking on with incredulous amusement.
I then explained that Jesus gave his friends encouraging names. Peter, which means “a stone”, Matthew, “Gift of God,” and Boanergis, the fantastic “Sons of Thunder.” I told them that if we trust in Jesus, He will give us all a new name when we get to heaven.
“Nutie, what name would you like Jesus to give you when you get to heaven?” I asked.
“Lover of Life,” she exclaimed cheerfully after giving the matter a little thought.
“Rayaka Lila,” I translated into Miskito.
I threw the question out into the throng of tiny heads.
One first grader who had been busting out some vintage disco moves during our singing and dancing time raised his hand and, before he could be recognized, blurted out, “I want to be Ninja Maliante.” After a moderate amount of persuasion we finally conceded him “Rambo” as his “New Name” and proceeded to call on other children. One claimed Matis (Mouse), and another little girl said “Gata” (Cat). The names kept coming as children brain-stormed according to their natural developmental criteria. I wrote them with colored markers on strips of paper, folding them and passing them out to each one.
All in all it was an uproariously delightful half hour we spent with our diminutive charges. When we arrived back at the house we evaluated what--if any--spiritual principles we might have taught them.
“Boanergis,” I said with gusto. “I thought that was a pretty cool boy’s name.”
