Birthday Blessing

I rolled over in bed and smelled dark coffee and a cinnamon roll doused with melting frosting. I heard my three kids “sneaking” into my room with the stealth of a six legged moose. My wife wore that smile, the best one, the one that crinkles here eyes with sincerity and playfulness.  Could there be a better way to start one’s birthday?

Two cards made of bright green construction paper were proudly dropped in my lap. I grabbed the first and recognized the written letters that looked like they were going down a slide, it was from my oldest. She kindly praised my ability as a dad and a rider of horses. I smiled, thinking this would be the first and only that each would be recognized in the same sentence. The other green card was from my four year old. At the bottom were two stick figures with no torsos and legs as skinny as they were long. All of this was fairly standard birthday tradition in our house. 

Until my wife tossed four more letters in my lap.

I slowly began reading words from those closest and deepest to me. These were something entirely different than the obligatory birthday card script of “You’re a good guy  and an older one, hope the next year is a gooder.” Their words felt deliberate and chosen, like the work of an unhurried worker using simple tools. 

My reading slowed. I tried to grasp the words being given. My usually squirmy kids became still as they saw my eyes reveal the significance of the letters. I thought about telling them they were happy tears. But that was only partly true. 

The letters kept coming that day. Some were delivered by hand, others air mailed so they’d arrive on time. Each offered humbling words that did more than just name strengths, but dared to name my uniqueness as good. Words I could have easily dismissed as flattery had our shared experience not branded them with truth.  Weighty words I’m not used to sitting in or under. 

By evening I had 18 letters. I read the last one before I went to bed. More tears….

Of gratitude for a wife whose love goes beyond the convenience of a store bought card and a book, but instead gives the gift I need most and most reluctant to receive. 

Of awe for God’s generosity in the giving of men who see my face. The real one. Not the polished managed one of competence I think the world wants. But the one brimming with hope and excitement. The one I can only see through their mirroring and naming. 

Of disbelief and hope. That I might receive their words as true and allow them to nourish the places within that too often cover desire with doubt. 

My birthday was filled with blessing. Not the vague kind that can be equally applied to a found parking place or a good meal. Blessing is something more than that - something bold enough that makes you want to shift your weight and avert your eyes, anything to distract you from receiving the truest word about you: that you bear God’s image. Each of those letters gave me words of blessing. Their words were both an affirmation and invitation - they named the reality of what’s true, and invited the embrace and future embodiment of that goodness in the days to come. 

What if blessing was not an abstract cliche central to the Christianese language? What if it was an intentional naming of God’s image in another. 

Friends who have you blessed recently? And how have you received blessing from others? 

Jesse French
Restoration Project Chief of Next Steps