Photo of what the blessed look like, by K. Tennant
I woke up to a vicious migraine and the sound of steady rain on the tent roof. Every muscle in my body was sore, and when I reached over to feel the floor next to my sleeping bag I felt little pools of water gathering. A few of the seven eighth-grade girls in my tent were beginning to stir, and I couldn’t begin to imagine how we would get them and the other eight middle schoolers fed and packed up, along with our very wet tents and supplies.
What had been the theme of our weekend, again? Oh right, blessedness. At that moment, it felt like God was playing a cruel joke on us, or trying to teach us a lesson the hard way. (And believe me—that’s not the first time I’ve looked accusingly at God in that way.)
Digging into blessing: beyond the cliche
On Friday night, though, the theme felt very alive. As we sat around the campfire waiting for it to burn down to proper marshmallow-cooking conditions, we asked the kids, ages 11-14, “What do you think it means to be blessed?” They raised their hands eagerly, one after another, to add their thoughts. The conversation wandered from “other words people might use to describe blessed (such as ‘lucky’), and what the difference is,” to “moments when we feel blessed” and “what blessing us says about God.” I was astounded at the kids’ insight and eagerness to share their thoughts.
Saturday morning in the pouring rain, after our canoe trip had been canceled and the grownups had gotten soaked in our efforts to better-secure the tents’ rain flies and stakes, my tent group of girls and I climbed into my car to eat our sack lunches and have devotions. The girls took turns reading aloud the Beatitudes, from Matthew 5:1-12.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven…
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted…
As the rain poured down and the windows steamed up, we went through the nine “blessed” statements one by one. What does it look like to be poor in spirit? What does it mean to mourn—not just at a funeral, but in your day-to-day lives? How might you be “merciful” at school or home? What could possibly be good about being “meek?” The girls thought hard and answered honestly, from their heads and hearts.
Then the girls each talked about which of the nine attitudes or actions they most wanted to work on. They worried that some of them were going to be really hard to do well. A big part of God’s blessing us, I told them, comes not just when we “get it right,” but when we try, and fail, and then learn and try again.
Watching the blessings bloom through the rain
Driving toward home Sunday morning, the car packed to the ceiling with wet shoes and gear and the girls quiet for perhaps the first time all weekend, I felt small pin-pricks of relief poking through the cloud cover of my migraine. I knew it would be hours until the pain completely passed, but I also knew it would pass. Nothing makes you feel quite so blessed. Soon I would be home, in my warm bed, with Jason there to make tea for me and rub my head.
My thoughts drifted to something I had shared with the kids around the campfire Friday night, while we were still dry, hours before the rain started. They were discussing the difference between “lucky” and “blessed.”
“One way to look at it,” I said, “is that ‘lucky’ tends to be flat, and one-dimensional. It is what it is. A blessing usually has several layers and dimensions. It might even arrive in the midst of circumstances that don’t seem at all blessed, or it might not take shape as a blessing until much later.”
Yes, I thought as I drove along the expressway toward home. It’s that very depth and complexity that causes a blessing to take root—to grow and flower and spread. Beyond me. Beyond this day. Blessed are the rained upon, indeed.
Similar Posts:
- A death, a birthday & a call for new beginnings
- Talking to my kids about death
- Not talking to my kids about heaven
Pingback: blessed are the rained upon « in the fine print