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Blessa me!

March 7, 2012

My daughter is going to be two this month and she is a pretty bright girl, even if I do say so myself.  She does, on occasion, get confused with “Excuse me” and “Bless you”  The other day we were “working” in the kitchen and she sneezed.  She ran up to me and flung her arms around my leg  “Blessa me!”  Blessa me, Momma!”  Blessa me!”  Blessa me!”  It took me a couple seconds to stop what I was doing and realize that she was actually waiting for a response.  Insistent.  Persistent.  Tenacious.  Head thrown back, hanging on to my leg, voice getting louder.  “Blessa me!”  Blessa me, Momma!”  Blessa me!”  Blessa me!”  I did.  Of course, I did.  You bet I did.  Stopped what I was doing, picked her up and gave her a big hug.  “Bless you, Baby.”  It made me happy to stop what I was doing, give her some lovin’ and provide the much needed blessa-ing.  There is a lesson there.  Maybe because it was on the heels of a conversation with my Dad that was all about the power of our words.  Maybe it was because I have been thinking recently about how God taught us to think of Him as Father, not because he is male or because he wants to spank us, but because the parenting role, is attached to so much more than just meeting basic needs and doling out chores.  It made me think of Jacob in the Old Testament insisting on a blessing, wrestling it to the ground.  It made me think of all the times I have snuck in the back door asking for just enough, expecting the just enough.  Not wanting to appear greedy or draw too long a look.

 

I am not trying to espouse any particular theology here, I am just telling you what was going through my mind the minutes and hours and now even days after my daughter demanded her blessing.  Not as a petulant child who was trying to get her way, but as a right of ownership and relying on her previous experience.  “Blessa me!”  Blessa me, Momma!”  Blessa me!”  Blessa me!”

 

Are you being persistent in your asking? Are you expecting a response?

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