A Stunning Sweetness
It is not enough to be chosen.
We also need an ongoing blessing that allows us to hear in an ever-new way
that we belong to a loving God who will never leave us alone,
but will remind us always that we are guided by love on every step of our lives.
--Henri Nouwen, Life of the Beloved
When I was nine years old, my entire family came from Montana, Kentucky, Florida, and England to spend one magical week together on Captiva Island off the Florida coast. The memories from that week remain part of our family lore to this day, like when my 4-year-old cousin prayed extemporaneously for 25+ minutes in her tiny sweet British voice for her portion of the family talent show. I believe the prayer lasted this long because any time someone laughed or interrupted her, she would re-start her improvisational masterpiece with furrowed brown and renewed holy vigor. When it became apparent that decisive action was needed to end the prayer before we all went to bed that evening, salty tears of defeat were shed—but it is her prayer we remember when reflecting on the joy of that trip.
There is another prayer I remember from our time in Florida, and it is this prayer that came to mind when considering how to write about blessing. Before sharing this memory, I should mention that the only cloud in my bright Florida sky that week was the mullet haircut I was given just days before our family reunion. Somehow, the hairdresser managed to give me bangs that started at the middle of my head and cascaded down my forehead in multiple shaggy layers, ending just above my eyebrows in jagged tips. When she turned my chair around and I saw my shaggy reflection in the mirror, I was horrified. I confess to shedding many embittered tears over this unforeseen act of sabotage, and I still cringe when looking at family photos from our vacation.
Halfway through our week in Florida, my mom walked into the bunk-bedded room I was sharing with my siblings one evening and announced that my uncle wanted to bless us. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but when he entered and placed his hands in succession upon each of our bowed blonde heads and prayed over us, I sensed that something special was happening. Although I did not have a category for it then, it is the first time I remember receiving an intentional blessing from someone. In a sense, my haircut of horror made the timely blessing even sweeter as I felt my shame slowly dissipate in the warmth of two palms placed upon my head. Sweetness. Peace. Blessing.
Now, at the turning of the season, I am receiving the blessing of sweetness once again—a long-awaited balm that has rushed in to fill the hollow places carved out by winter’s slow recession. This sweetness sounds like birdsong, tastes like sun-warmed strawberries, smells like hyacinths, feels like hands of blessing upon my head, looks like the skeleton moon that is growing into bridal brightness as we approach Holy Week.
In her book of blessings titled The Cure for Sorrow, poet-artist Jan Richardson describes the experience of being surprised by the blessing that flows into us after a season of being emptied by grief, hardship, or loss:
When the water rushed into the emptiness,
you were surprised
that you could even feel it,
that you could sense
the sudden drenching
when you thought
all had been poured out.And then suddenly
the sweetness
that stunned you,
that told you
this was not all,
this was not the end. . .
As we journey towards Holy Week, may we seek and receive a sweetness that stuns us—a sweetness that tells us life cannot help but return after death, that resurrection is possible, that this is not the end. In the act of blessing and receiving blessing, we remember the truth about who we are to God. As Henri Nouwen reminds us in his Life of the Beloved, “The blessings that we give to each other are expressions of the blessing that rests on us from all eternity. It is the deepest affirmation of our true self.” The affirmation of the true self is one that we are fully equipped to bestow upon each other. Will we? It takes such courage to reach out our own empty hands to bless another, but it is the empty space between our two palms that the sweetness of God rushes in to fill. Nouwen also writes that “To give a blessing is to affirm, to say ‘yes’ to a person’s Belovedness.” I received the following blessing during a time of prayer with God, and I pass it on to you with my hands raised and open in blessing. May this blessing resound with the sound of your belovedness.
* * *
This is hallowed ground—this time with me. I do not rush you or force you into it, but I am delighted when you come. Not so I can use you, but so I can bless you. Feel my hands of blessing upon your head now.
I bless you in my Name, my righteousness, my peace.
I bless you with overcoming even the darkest night, the sharpest arrow.
I bless you with and within my love, which casts out all fear.
There is no room for fear in my love. Each day, you must choose which you will serve: Fear or Love. For you cannot serve both.
One will master you—crushing you more each day, bit by bit, until there is nothing left of you—my glorious design. The other will flourish you, set you free, grow you like a stately tree in my house.
Oh my love, choose love. For I have chosen you.
You have been worshipping fear because it seems more certain. It is easier to believe your own fearful projections of the future than to trust fully in my love.
But faith is the substance of things hoped for—the evidence of things unseen.
I am actually asking you to trust what you cannot see rather than what you can see or imagine. I am asking you to trust eternal things above and beyond earthly things. Only then will you be free.
The road is narrow, and only few find it. But oh, how blessed are those who do!
Walk confidently today. Hold your head high, for you are my beloved child. With you, I am well pleased. There is no fear in love. Cast out fear with my help. Simply give it no foothold, and it will flee from you.
Rise up now, my child.
It is time to be strong in my strength (which often looks like weakness to the world), wise in my wisdom (which often appears as foolishness to the world), and brave in your belovedness.
Try going out on a limb with me in faith.
I will always catch you; simply try.
Step out onto thin air. I will be waiting.
Oh, the joy ahead.