Cynical and sarcastic maybe but not cheerful. I prefer to go with realistic and honest.
Truthfully, really cheerful people kind of get on my nerves a little.
I really don't run into too much cheerfulness since I spend most of my days with kids who are afraid of "active shooters" and teachers who have devoted their lives to the profession and just want their promised pension but I digress. (Maybe I should add bitter to realistic and honest.)
And if there is something worse (to me) than a cheerful person, it's a cheerful Christian.
You know what I'm talking about. People that walk around saying things like "God does everything for a reason" and "My life is so blessed."
I mean, what does that even say about God. . . .
I've heard folks say they were blessed when they found a good parking spot, or they passed a test, or found a decent spouse. If that's true, that must mean the dude who is parking in the overflow lot really messed up. The students who failed the test must have made God mad, and God was trying to test me not bless me when I was married the first time.
Remember, I said I wasn't cheerful; I never said anything about not being touchy and critical.
So, when Kathy, my church's music minister, showed me a children's book of blessings and later asked me to ponder blessing passages from the Bible as we look towards the kids' Spring Music production, I actually kind of cringed inside and made some kind of bad joke, I'm sure. But, since Kathy used the word ponder (I LOVE that word) I decided to do just that and the journey has caused me to re-think blessed.
Don't tell Mrs. Bramel, my 5th grade Sunday School teacher, may she rest in peace, but I decided to google some bible verses, even though thanks to her, I do know where a few of those are located. Maybe.
And trust me, Google didn't fail.
" Then Jesus took the children in his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them." (Mark 10:16)
It didn't say he healed them or that he promised them good things. He took them in his arms, he touched them and blessed them.
So what if being blessed isn't about who has a great car or healthy children or a secure job. What if being blessed means you've been touched by the Divine, a reminder that you are not alone in this world.
If that's the case, I am blessed.. . again and again and again, for the Divine is everywhere.
The last time I saw my grandmother her frail body was barely recognizable from just a month earlier. Her speech was gone and her eyes refused to open, but when I placed my head on her chest, she reached her hand to touch my shoulder. She blessed me.
My dear friends that used rough hands to drag me towards recovery and stability when my mental illness was left untreated -- they blessed me.
When my mother wraps her arms around me in her doorway as I walk into her home, she blesses me.
When our grandson sleeps over and awakens me by stroking my face, he blesses me (even if it is 5:30 am!)
At Godly Play each week, the storyteller touches each child and reminds them that the Divine lives in each of them, all of them -- we bless them.
Every morning at my elementary school, the teachers stand outside their classrooms doors and greet the children with smiles, and good mornings, and handshakes and hugs-- we bless them.
At my parents, when we are all together, we hold hands while my dad prays. It's not the prayer but the entwined hands that bless us.
My beloved blesses me each time he reaches back for my hand as we cross a busy street.
No matter how big or small, each blessing, each touch, whispers to us that we are never alone, that we are more than we could ever imagine.
So if a blessing can be equated with a touch, it's impossible to give one without receiving one. Those children that Jesus blessed as they laughed and squirmed and maybe even argued, their touch blessed the Chosen One as well.
So being blessed isn't about who won and who lost, but who agrees to walk with Love.
I guess I can agree with all those cheerful Christians now in that I am indeed blessed. Just don't tell anyone, I don't want folks thinking I'm getting soft.
My dear friends that used rough hands to drag me towards recovery and stability when my mental illness was left untreated -- they blessed me.
When my mother wraps her arms around me in her doorway as I walk into her home, she blesses me.
When our grandson sleeps over and awakens me by stroking my face, he blesses me (even if it is 5:30 am!)
At Godly Play each week, the storyteller touches each child and reminds them that the Divine lives in each of them, all of them -- we bless them.
Every morning at my elementary school, the teachers stand outside their classrooms doors and greet the children with smiles, and good mornings, and handshakes and hugs-- we bless them.
At my parents, when we are all together, we hold hands while my dad prays. It's not the prayer but the entwined hands that bless us.
My beloved blesses me each time he reaches back for my hand as we cross a busy street.
No matter how big or small, each blessing, each touch, whispers to us that we are never alone, that we are more than we could ever imagine.
So if a blessing can be equated with a touch, it's impossible to give one without receiving one. Those children that Jesus blessed as they laughed and squirmed and maybe even argued, their touch blessed the Chosen One as well.
So being blessed isn't about who won and who lost, but who agrees to walk with Love.
I guess I can agree with all those cheerful Christians now in that I am indeed blessed. Just don't tell anyone, I don't want folks thinking I'm getting soft.
I guess I'll get on Amazon Prime and order a new bumper sticker - #blessed.
