But I Don't Write Poetry! (Second Attempt)

Tonight, at approximately 6:40 pm, I will read a poem that I wrote several weeks ago. Under normal circumstances, I don't mind sharing my work publicly. Under normal circumstances,  I would be preaching or sharing prose and I would be quite comfortable. Tonight I am sharing poetry...but I don't write poetry. So, you see my dilemma...or at least you see a part of my dilemma.

Tonight, two other writers and I will be sharing our stories at a reception for current and potential First Person Arts supporters. Now, if you know me at all, you know that I can "do" a reception. Show up, smile, laugh, listen, insert witty comment here, refill my sparkling water with lime, eat another crab puff and then find someone to join me in the shift from would-be-supporter to current supporter. (We won't just eat together, we will also write checks together. There's safety in group spending!)  Eat, drink, and be merry - I can do that! But I don't write poetry!

I will share the wonderful story of Lise Funderburg's great workshop on Object and Memoir in another blog or perhaps in my book but I have to introduce her here because she is the catalyst for my involvement in the First Person Museum.  In her workshop (at the Art Sanctuary's 26th Annual Celebration of Black Writing), she asked us to present or think of an object to share with the class. Every object has a story and we were to share both object and story.  The story that emerged on that day was the story of my "conspicuously absent" wedding band. (I should know by now that any time I resort to dark humor or flippant remarks, something is brewing beneath the surface.) In the last few minutes of the workshop, we wrote about our object and I dove right into the assignment. What I did not expect was the form and shape of my story. I found myself writing from a place that was unfamiliar to me. I was writing the story which emerged as a poem...but I don't write poetry!

When I finished writing my story, I put my pen down and went to the ladies room to collect myself because I could not believe what I had written. I came back to the room where others were still writing and I waited for the inevitable invitation for a volunteer to share what he or she had written. Someone else was brave enough to go first and after her wonderful story about a photo of her father, I thought, "No way am I reading this corny thing!" But it begged to be read aloud and I vaguely remember raising my hand and offering to share what I had written but then, I heard myself apologizing to the group for what was certainly an unexpected exercise in bad rhyme. I began reading the piece entitled, "This Thing - This Ring" and when I came to the last stanza, I felt my throat tighten and the tears burning my eyes and I used my public speaking trick to press through and finish the last few words of this story-poem. No one spoke for a moment and then Lise accused me of writing it at home and smuggling it into the workshop and I don't know if anyone else laughed, but I did. (And thank goodness  because I think I had stopped breathing for a good 5 minutes!) I was speaking publicly about my married life and the death of my marriage...and it led to an invitation to participate in the First Person Museum.

In just a few moments, on a sheet of cheap notebook paper, with one of my favorite pens, I managed to write the story of my troubled marriage, my pending divorce, my 'clergy conflict' and my resolve to continue to believe in marriage while accepting the end of my own. Tonight, in a room full of strangers, I will read the poem that tells the story of my troubled marriage, my no-longer-pending divorce, my 'clergy conflict' and my resolve to continue to believe in marriage while accepting the end of my own. With the ink still damp on my divorce papers, I will stand before the group and eulogize my "conspicuously absent" wedding band...but maybe I won't tell them that I don't write poetry...

The Day I Met My Dad

     It's father's day today. Unlike the mob scene on mother's day, church had plenty good room in the pews this morning. It won't be hard to find a place to eat if you don't have a reservation today. There are still lots of cards left on the racks at the stores today. Some people are celebrating the women who are raising children without the help of a full time father-in-residence. Some of us are mourning the loss of our fathers and some of us are celebrating the many men who have stepped into the gap in our lives. Today,  I rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep.

     Those who know me well enough know that I am not offended by the words "Daddy's Girl." Yes, I am and so what?  My father is one of the greats but what makes him great is not that he lived up to the job description of a Dad/Father/Parent/Guardian. One of the things that makes my dad so great is that he loved me enough to hear me when I needed him most.

     It may seem odd to give this blog the title, The Day I Met My Dad, since he was (and still is) married to my mother and came home from work every day to the house where I grew up.  The Day I Met My Dad refers to the day that I was lying on a hospital bed looking over at him and trying to explain what it meant to suffer from depression despite the appearance of a successful and happy life. The Day I Met My Dad was the day that he learned that I needed to hear him say that he loved me. A man who had never said those words before began to say them to me at every opportunity. The Day I Met My Dad was the day that I stopped being his little girl and became his adult daughter.  I could write so much more but I will simply tell you that on that day, our relationship shifted in a way that defies description.  The Day I Met My Dad was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.  He still indulges me, rescues me, spoils me and endures my ranting and raving and pouting.  He taught me a great many things and a love of jazz is one of them. So today, in celebration of The Day I Met My Dad, here is a clip of Horace Silver performing "A Song for My Father."

If there was ever a man 

Who was generous, gracious and good

That was my dad

The man

A human being so true

He could live like a king

'Cause he knew

The real pleasure in life

To be devoted to

And always stand by me

So I'd be unafraid and free

I love you, Daddy! 

I Am Changing

     Perhaps you have seen the movie (or if you are old enough, the Broadway Musical featuring Sheryl Lee Ralph, Loretta Devine, Vondie Curtis-Hall and Obba Babatunde) featuring the song entitled "I Am Changing." Whether you experienced this powerful song as sung on stage by Jennifer Holliday or on the big screen sung by Jennifer Hudson, I can not imagine anyone hearing this song and not feeling some connection to the chanteuse as she pulls from the depths of her soul. She declares that she is changing. She is not looking for anyone else to change. She does not need a change in her circumstances. She is going to be the change that she wants to see in her world.  She is going to stop being a bratty diva and she is going to be a more authentic Effie. (Confession for my Obama fans: I just typed and deleted "Now that's a change you can believe in" three times! Ha! Ha! Since it is in parentheses, it doesn't count.)

    I will not spoil the plot for the few who may not have experienced this powerful moment in the Dreamgirls story but I will simply ask this: Are you ready for a change?  Sometimes, we say that we want to change but it is simply too difficult.  It seems to me that the difficulty lies not in the change but in fighting the gravitational pull  of staying the same. Of course it is difficult to change if we continue to do the same silly things day after day. In another blog entry, which is currently in the draft stage, I will tell you about my catalyst for change. For today, I'm asking you to celebrate with me because the good news is that once you choose to make one small change, there is a ripple effect (I don't like dominoes because they fall down and I'd rather not fall if I have the option).  One small change leads to another and then another and before you know it, you have done the impossible - you have made the change that you wanted to see.

      My change is the move from wanting to be a published writer to actually being a published writer. I tend to forget that I do have a sermon and an essay published in  Dr. Cleophus J. LaRue's book, This is My Story: Testimonies and Sermons of Black Women in Ministry. (My blog, my shameless plug!) As a good friend said when the book was published, "The hard part is done. You've been published once and the first time is the hardest. Now, all you have to do is continue!" Continue? Was he crazy? I wrote those pieces like any other assignment while I was a full time graduate student. I don't have time for dreams anymore because I have to make a living and I can't do that while writing. I did not believe that I would ever have the time to pursue my dream. Now, I have more time than I care to manage - but I am using it to write. I write in the mornings. I write after and often during lunch. I write before my daughter comes home from school. I write before going to bed. When I am tired of writing, I read. I read the works of those who were bold enough to follow their heart and talent. I read the bible, I read everything Stephanie Meyer publishes, I read blogs, I read magazines. I read what I have written and sometimes I actually like it. I have always been a reader, but now, following Effie's lead, I am changing. I am a writer. I did not believe that I could make money by writing, but that belief is changing as well!
     There will be more exciting news for us to celebrate in the near future as I continue to embrace and engage my change. The question remains - are you ready to change? What do you require to make the change that your dreams require? The lyrics of the song make it plain that although Effie and I and (insert your name here) are changing - we can not do it alone.  We need help and we need to help one another. We need a hand and we need to get started. I must pause here to thank those who have given me a hand -  a word of encouragement, a critical view of my work, a meal at a real restaurant or the blessing of childcare so that I can pursue this dream. When you are ready, I will take my hands off of the keyboard and extend them to help you as well.  We are changing!

     If you are viewing this blog post on your phone or a restrictive server, you will not see the video of Jennifer Hudson singing this marvelous song, so for your benefit, here are the lyrics.  I recommend that you use them for inspiration to make a small change today! Be blessed!


Look at me/Look at me
I am Changing / Trying every way I can
I am changing / I'll be better than I am
I'm trying / To find a way
to understand / but I need you
I need you / I need a hand

I am changing / Seeing everything so clear
I am changing / I'm gonna start right now right here
I'm hoping / To work it out and I know that I can

But I need you / I need a hand

All of my life / I been a fool
who said I could do it all alone
How many good friends have I already lost?
How many dark nights have I known?

Walking down that long road
there was nothing I could find
All these years of darkness
Can make a person blind

But now I can see
I am changing / Trying every way I can
I am changing / Ill be better than I Am

But I need a friend / to help me start / all over again

That will be just fine
I know its gonna work out this time
Cause this time I am
This time I am
I am Changing / Ill get my life together now
I am changing / Yes, I know how
Im gonna start again / Im gonna leave my past behind
Ill change my life / Ill make a vow
And nothings gonna stop
me
now

Dear Kelly (Why I Run)

Dear Kelly,

You are an insightful friend and I appreciate the gift of your friendship.  I enjoyed our conversation about food and educational pursuits and I am still not sure how this question came about in a conversation that was supposed to be about your health. You may have simply been curious or just making conversation but your question was one that I had asked myself but failed to answer. Your asking compelled me to organize my musings and generate an answer.  Do you remember asking me why I work out so hard? I do. At first, I gave you the comical answer but as with all comedy, there is a deeper truth lurking beneath the surface. Here it is...

Today, I sat in my car for a moment before going into the gym because I felt a profound and palpable sadness welling up inside of me. I knew that I would not be able to run at all if I gave in to this feeling, so I grabbed my Ipod and my ID card and rushed into the club. The tears began streaming down my face in spite of my resolve to get ahead of them. I quickly brushed them aside so that the man behind the desk would not see them and wordlessly ask me what was wrong. I rushed into the ladies room and allowed the tears to fall and I muffled the sobs that broke through as well. I stood in the stall feeling confused and angry because I did not know where this came from and I wanted it to end.  Finally, I collected myself, blew my nose on that rough industrial strength toilet paper and trudged over to the sink where I washed my face and instead of giving myself the evil eye and demanding decorum, I just smiled a weak smile and thought, "It's going to be okay."  In one final gesture of self torture, I hopped on the scale which provided a digital confirmation that I have only lost one pound from all of my hard work and managed to laugh at myself for falling into the trap of playing the numbers game.

My renewed smile and I walked up the stairs and began the trek to the treadmill.  Settled into my routine of a brisk walk with an increasing incline I remembered your question again. Why am I working so hard? I remembered a scene from the film, "What Women Want" where an advertisement is created for Nike running shoes for women and the woman expresses the freedom she feels when running. I realized that I want to be free too.  While playing the role of my everyday avatar, I frequently find confinement and restriction. Most days, I feel like Sisyphus, pushing that boulder uphill only to return to the same dreaded task tomorrow. It seems to me that if I have to work this hard only to end up in the same place as where I started, I might as well gain some cardiovascular benefits while doing it.

The treadmill will not clutch it's telemetry strip because of the hue of my skin or the kink of my hair. The treadmill is neither impressed nor intimidated by my educational pedigree. The treadmill welcomes me whether I look happy to see it or not.  The treadmill does not feel slighted when my headphones are in and I seem tuned out.  I am not judged for choosing to walk when I could and should run. I am not  mocked when I run with poor form. I am neither overqualified nor under-qualified to work here.  The treadmill asks no questions and offers no solutions or suggestions. The treadmill literally just keeps it moving.

Whether walking or running, I am thinking. I am processing. I am solving. I am releasing. I am just being. I am listening. I am hearing. I am praying. I am moving. When I am on the treadmill, I embrace the God in me because when I am on the treadmill, I just AM. It does not matter if I burn 3 calories or 300. It does not matter that I don't have a job or a "better half" right now. The only thing that matters is that I am here. Like Miss Celie in the famous scene in The Color Purple, by God, I'm still here. I am still here and I have value beyond measure. I can translate my dreams into reality and transmute negative energy into positivity! I am evolving. I am growing. I just AM, I tell you. I just AM!

I began walking on the treadmill because my clothes were a little bit too tight and my ego was a little bit bruised.  Now that I have a better sense of my self and my abilities, I walk on the treadmill for the health benefits and because every day, I run a little bit more than I walk and one day, I'm going to run the entire 5K (3.1 miles) from start to finish.  I am not in any hurry to reach that goal, but I am having fun along the way and that's all that matters!

Again, I thank you for asking me the question. I am grateful for the answers that I have found. I run because I can and because it frees me up to just BE. What an awesome gift. The freedom, luxury, and privilege to just BE who I AM if only for 45 minutes every day.

Kelly, I pray that you will also find that special place in your own life where you can just BE. May you find that God space that empowers you to say, I AM. May you find and live in the peace that passes all understanding granted and given by the God who IS!

Peace and Love,
Carla


Stevie Wonder sang it so well:

Free like the river
Flowin' freely through infinity
Free to be sure of
What I am and who I need not be
Free from all worries
Worries prey on oneself's troubled mind
Freer than the clock's hands
Tickin' way the times
Freer than the meaning of
free that man defines
Life running through me
Till I feel my father God has called

Me having nothin'
But possessing riches more than all
And I'm free
To be nowhere
But in every place I need to be
Freer than a sunbeam
Shinning through my soul
Free from feelin' heat or
knowing bitter cold
Free from conceiving the beginning
For that's the infinite start

I'm gone - gone but still living
Life goes on without a beating heart

Free like a vision
That the mind of only you can see

Freer than a raindrop
Falling from the sky
Freer than a smile in a
baby's sleepin' eyes

I'm free like a river
Flowin' freely to infinity
I'm free to be sure of what
I am and who I need not be
I'm much freer - like the meaning
of the word free that
crazy man defines
Free - free like the vision that
The mind of only you are ever gonna see
Free like the river my life
Goes on and on through infinity

Abundance

     Today, I am writing out of sheer gratitude.  In one week, I will file my last claim for unemployment before filing for an extension because a woman like myself (talented, eager to work, holding multiple degrees) cannot seem to find a suitable job in this fierce economic climate.  When I went to the unemployment office, they laughed at my request to further my education per the promise in their literature. "No dear, we're trying to train people for trades, not to pursue a Ph.D.! But I like your spirit!"  Well, thank you but my spirit cannot cover the rent, so I'll keep looking for something more substantive.  In spite of my current economic situation, which interferes with my self-care purchases from Starbucks and Barnes and Noble, I still find that I am still comfortably seated in the heart of abundance.
     How can that be? When I look around my living room and see all of the books and music compact discs surrounding me, I realize that I shall never be bored as long as I can pick up a book and re-read it or pop a disc into my cd player and dance my heart out in the middle of the living room floor. This reminds me that there is an abundance of joy stored in my soul and it does not take much effort to release it.  It also reminds me that there are always new songs to be sung and new books to be written from the abundance of experiences that have filled, shaped and become my life.  I am grateful.
     I look into the kitchen and the pantry and see the boxes and bags of food spilling into every inch of available space.  While my sweet daughter complains that there's nothing to eat, I know better. I come from a long line of women and men who learned to turn discarded scraps into succulent feasts for their families.  I may not always want what I see on the shelf but I am always mindful that I have choices.  I can choose to eat what I have or I can choose to order something else - and have it delivered. I can also choose to go to bed hungry but even that choice comes from a place of abundance. Only someone who CAN would choose to go to bed hungry because she knows that when she awakes, she will be able to choose from an array of breakfast items.  Last night, I cooked peas and rice and reheated some ham that I found in the freezer. As I ate my rice, I sat quietly and reflected on the percentage of people in the world who also ate rice that night. They may not have had peas with their rice. They might not have had chicken stock in which to cook their rice. They might not have had the choice to have ham with their rice. Most of them will not be able to choose anything else but rice for their next hundred dinners - if they eat at all.  Again, in the simple act of eating a bowl of rice, I am reminded of the abundance which keeps me afloat. I am grateful.
     I have recently started going to the gym five or six days out of every week.   Although I joke about not having enough oxygen to fuel my walk/run routine, I must confess that I have yet to run out of air or energy while making my way to the finish line.  When I first began walking, I tested my old track team skills and found that I was still able to make good time if I pushed myself.  I realized quickly that I had an abundance of good health and strength.  I also had a layer of "good living" that had settled between my ribs and my knees but as someone who has been thin all of my life, I can even appreciate the abundance that caused my skirts to tuck under in the back and also caused my jeans to beg for mercy.  Body image and perception is its own blog topic for another day, but I am reminded of my health and strength each time I set my course on the treadmill with a confidence that I shall indeed finish what I started.  I am grateful for a body that still works with all of its original parts. I am also grateful for the manufacturer's guarantee that when the lease on this one does expire that there is a 'retirement' home waiting for my soul.  That's real abundance!
    I am also grateful for an abundance of love in my life.  I have some of the best friends that anyone could ever hope to have. My friends' love is patient and kind; my friends' love keeps no record of wrong doing; my friends' love trusts, hopes and perseveres; My friends are faithful, hopeful and loving - but the greatest of these is the love of my friends!  My friends have loved me through good relationships and bad breakups. My friends have loved me in sickness and in health.  My friends span the decades - from elementary school to graduate school.  My friends span the globe - from the Canary Islands to Long Island.  Some friends were born family, other friends have become family.  Some of my friends share common interests. Others share a space of agreeable disagreement.  Some have walked through the treacherous waters of academia with me. Others have weathered the storms of church life as congregants and as clergy. Some friends I made by praying for them. Others have prayed with me when mammograms were unclear and biopsies needed repeating. Some have held my hand and others have lent a hand.  Some make sure that there is money for something fun after the light bill has been paid.  Others send cards in the mail because they know that I'll read them every day for at least two months.  Some send text messages to let me know that they're thinking of me. Others click "like" on my Facebook status updates. Some remind me that they're waiting for my new blog post. Others remind me that there are job openings with their companies.  Some don't call, text, write, or email for months at a time...but when they do...it is as if time has stood still. In the abundance of which I speak and write, there are still many more friends just waiting to be embraced!  For these friends and this love, I am grateful.
     Yes, these next few weeks will be a test of my faith and a test of my ability to squeeze a penny until Lincoln screams but these next few weeks will also be weeks of great comfort because I know that I have more than enough. I know that I am living in a place of sweet surrender to the abundance of blessings that life has to offer. I may not have the exact configuration that I desire, but I have the exact configuration that I need at this moment.  What I do have reminds me to be grateful and to be patient and to trust in the Lord with all my heart.  I am abundantly blessed and truly grateful. Thank you for sharing in my joy! I pray that you will pause to seek the abundance in your life today.

Shalom!
This is the song in my heart today...
 

Relax into the Ride

     About a month ago, I had the pleasure of riding on the back of a motorcycle. (Yes, God's infinite wisdom kept me from even thinking I could actually ride solo!) The thought of a woman on the back of a motorcycle may conjure certain images or even memories for you but for me, this was a stand-alone event which would affect me in ways I never imagined.  First, it was a delight to be invited to literally 'come along for the ride' on that beautiful cool Saturday morning.  Errands are often more easily accomplished without any additional ballast to slow you down so, this was a chance to tag along and enjoy watching someone else complete his list of things to do. Second, I had not been on the back of a bike in such a long time, the pounding in my heart, throat and ears came not from excitement, but from fear. I had seen many motorcycle accidents on New Jersey's many highways. I had attended a funeral for a young man who lost his life to a horrific motorcycle accident.  Oh God! Not today, please! I just want to take this ride, be cute while riding and not walk funny when I swing my leg over the back of this bike when we finally reach our destination. I want to cross over to the other side someday, but not today!  Third, I had nothing to do that would serve as a legitimate excuse for saying no...so I accepted the invitation and proceeded to dress in layers so that the joy of the ride would not be lost to the bite of the wind!
     I pulled my fleece jacket over my head and smoothed my locs down as if to magically make them less voluminous.  I pulled that heavy black helmet onto my head and thought for a moment that the weight of it might break my neck before I could even get on the bike.  I prayed that the helmet would fit over all of my hair and it did and then I prayed that it would do its more important job of keeping me safe in the event of an accident. (It didn't have to!)  I forgot all about that plastic shield that would guard my eyes, nose, and mouth from wind, debris and bugs and I slathered on an extra coating of my Clinique superbalm moisturizing gloss to ward off any wind induced chapping.  I had to be prepared for that hair shampoo commercial moment when we would stop and I would remove the helmet, toss my lovely shoulder-blade length locs and smile for the camera. (Still waiting...)  Having done all of that vain and unnecessary prep work, I heard the roar of the engine and turned my head to see the bike slightly dip in my direction as I would imagine that a mighty steed would with Prince Charming holding the reins. I accepted the invitation and paused for a moment when I saw the small portion of padded black leather that had been set aside for me. (That's all the seat I get? Hmm, this should be interesting!)  I put my hand on Prince Charming's shoulder and hoisted my right leg over the slim back tire and quickly found the foot rests that had been let out for me and I found a comfortable posture for riding.  Finally, we would leave the parking lot!

     Now, some of you may imagine or know that one of the perks of riding on the back of a bike is that you have the opportunity to lean in close to the driver because you really like the person or you think that this will provide some additional safety and stability.  At first, I thought that I would be clinging and clutching for dear life for the entire ride...not as a romantic gesture, but purely for health and safety reasons.  As we crested the small hill that leads out of the complex and onto the road, a strange thought crept into my helmet-clad head. Suddenly, I thought, "Don't Cling." Clinging is the act of holding on to something with an incredibly tight grip. Clinging is firmly rooted in fear.  If I hold tight enough, maybe I can keep _______________ (him, her, it, my balance...fill in the blank).  Clinging also carries a connotation of possessiveness.  It involves a tight grip which may be rooted in entitlement. My inclination to cling to my very strong, capable and experienced driver revealed my sense of entitlement to safety, not romance - safety!  I must have forgotten that the laws of physics have few loopholes, if any, and clinging does not grant one immunity to those rules. If we were going to take a spill, clinging would not have saved my life or kept us out of harm's way.
     At that very moment, I realized that I was clinging and with only one city block behind us and a four lane highway ahead of us, I let go...but just a little bit! My mind went back to my meditation practice and I remember thinking, "Just relax into the ride."  What I initially thought would make the ride more precarious actually made it more enjoyable. I felt myself settling into my own small section of that leather seat and enjoying the sound of rushing wind muted by my hundred-pound helmet. I was abandoning all inclinations to cling to my driver and I was free to rest my hands on his waist or his legs instead of looking like I had assumed the position for the Heimlich maneuver.  As we rode along the highway, I felt free enough to look around and peek over his shoulder at the speedometer and  I marveled at the very idea that as we leaned into turns at relatively high speeds, I could just relax without fear of falling off of the bike.  This was a great ride and a wonderful lesson.
    What began as a fun Saturday afternoon activity turned into a life lesson for me.  I have learned that on the back of a bike and in this life, I will enjoy the ride much more if and when I am able to relax into the ride and find myself supported by what I cannot see.  Sometimes, it is good to just come along for the ride and let something bigger and more capable than you handle the complicated details of transportation.  How odd it seems to be more secure, more stable, more rooted, after loosening my grip.  How counter-intuitive it seems and yet how wonderfully it works.  What are you clinging to? What things, people, situations have strangle marks from the tight grip of your fingers? Test the theory and loosen your grip and see what happens.  I have learned not only to let go of things but also to watch my hands to make sure I don't accidentally choke the life out of someone or something in my life.  Relax into the ride...you'll enjoy it so much more. In this case, you're going to have to lose your grip in order to really get a grip!
   

The Art of the Blessing

      Blessings are on my mind today. Actually, blessings are on my mind most days but there are different kinds of blessings aren't there? There are the material or tangible blessings and then there are the blessings that we bestow with our words and deeds.  When I worked at a Christian school with a student body of approximately 40 students, we would have weekly chapel services and I would always begin with an invocation and end with a benediction. I explained that the benediction was the final good word. I wanted them to know that there was always a good word spoken for and over them and in their hearing. I can remember the importance of blessings in my early religious training in the Black Baptist Church. We never dismissed from Sunday School or choir rehearsal without some words of blessing or benediction being spoken.  The words did not have to be uttered by one with a degree from seminary. All one needed was the knowledge of these words, "May the Lord watch between me and thee while we're absent one from another. Amen."  It was that simple. Upon saying or hearing those words, we all knew that a blessing had been offered. We had been commended into the care of the Almighty with a promise of coming together again.   

     I am of the opinion that words have power. We can use our words to cause harm and pain or we can use our words to bring peace and healing.  We may take lightly the words, "Thank you! Have a nice day!" when we hear them at the end of an exchange of funds for services, but in effect, that is a blessing.  Saying good morning to loved ones upon rising and saying good night before drifting off to sleep is a form of blessing. I do not need to don my clergy collar to bestow a blessing upon my daughter as she goes off to school.  A simple, "Bye honey! Have a good day!" will do.  This strikes me today because I recently let a loved one leave my presence with words that were far from a wish for God's blessings.  (I do not want to linger on the subject of cursing but please note that there is a big difference between saying Good bye, God Bless, I love you, and "Don't let the doorknob hit you where the Good Lord split you!" Can you tell which is the blessing?)  I can and did pray that God's blessings will follow my loved one, but there is a different power in conferring that blessing from my mouth to my loved one's ear.  I have seen the anguish of far too many mourners who reflect on the last words that they uttered before losing the beloved one.  In the midst of our greatest hurts and pains, can we find a simple way to always give our blessing? I say yes. It can be a simple as whispering, Adios (Spanish for 'To God'), Adieu (French for 'To God'), or "Vaya con Dios" (Go with God) in place of the ever popular "Go to Hell!"  If your loved one asked you for a blessing and bowed her head before you, would you invoke the evils of the world upon her? Of course not.  You would ask the Almighty for the good and perfect gifts that have been promised.  Even when you don't want that someone to leave, remember to send him or her off with a word of blessing because you never know if their departure or their return will come back to you as a blessing!

     When I think of words of blessing, I think of the words of the 23rd Psalm where the Psalmist speaks of God's blessings.  "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over" (Psalm 23:5 KJV).  As I read that, I see the oil coursing down on my own head and I think of the consistency of oil. I think of the slow moving, viscous oil clinging to my head and it makes me think of the words that stick to me in the same way. An oil blessing of "I love you" will cling to my mind and strengthen me in the midst of my day.  An oil blessing of "Thank you" clings to me and reminds me to not only give but to receive graciously.  An oil blessing of "God Bless you" clings to me and carries me beyond the borders of self-reliance. An oil blessing of "I'm proud of you" grips me and encourages me to always do my best work. An oil blessing also allows the words of cursing to slide right down my back. Hurl your best insults and curses at me because my head has been annointed with the oil of blessing. Those words cannot cling to me because of the protection of my oil blessings! What words of oil blessing can you bestow upon someone today? Draw upon the Source for the words when you have none. I have included this clip of Lalah Hathaway singing "Don't Forget to Remember (where your blessings come from)."  When my well of words for blessing runs dry, I remember where my words of blessing come from and I can offer blessings from my cup which is always in a state of overflow.



I will leave you with this Irish blessing....until next time, shalom!
"May God give you...For every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share, for every sigh a sweet song and an answer for each prayer."