Blessing
The others partake of the sacramental elements and I stay where I am, preferring my place at the periphery. Listening. Not seeing, not touching. But feeling, yes. I hear the young priest, the one with the rich lilting voice, approach my place. His hand rests lightly my head while my knees rest bent against the wood.
The Lord bless you and keep you, now and forever.
I consider the tender might carried in words that mean to call out blessing. My eyes burn at the words, at something I hear but cannot see.
Beautiful reflection Lyla. Kneeling at the altar for me is often a holy encounter. Love how the priest came to you, right where you were just like Jesus does in our every day.
2012/04/12 at 6:20 AM
I think, Shelly, he didn’t know what to do with me for a while. But now he stops on the way back to his seat, and the simple act of speaking a blessing… Wow.
2012/04/12 at 7:25 AM
I would be glad for knees. That hand on head. Those words spoken in tender might. I think I might crumble.
2012/04/12 at 11:05 AM
What a blessing to have spoken over you. Just imagine speaking that over a friend each time you part. Goosebumps.
2012/04/12 at 11:06 PM
I think you once told me we should speak words of blessing to each other more often. And that light touch of a hand to the top of your head while your knees pressed hard to wood. I’m with Sandy. Crumbled.
I like when these Headroom posts show up here, Lyla. Like a sweet surprise, or a cool drink of water.
2012/04/13 at 10:25 PM
What a wonderful way to let Jesus touch through human hands. Loving reading about this journey, Lyla.
2012/04/17 at 7:44 PM
thanks for sharing this moment in time. Laying hands on another and hoping for God’s presence is a wonder
2012/04/23 at 8:36 PM