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An Enduring Blessing

Enduring Blessing

by Jan Richardson

What I really want to tell you

is to just lay this blessing

on your forehead,

on your heart;

let it rest

in the palm of your hand,

because there is hardly anything

this blessing could say,

any word it could offer

to fill the hollow.

Let this blessing

work its way

into you

with its lines

that hold nearly

unspeakable lament.

Let this blessing

settle into you

with its hope

more ancient

than knowing.

Hear how this blessing

has not come alone—

how it echoes with

the voices of those

who accompany you,

who attend you in every moment,

who continually whisper

this blessing to you.

find walls that can bear weight, to sort through the debris and retrieve what we can use.

Rebuilding a

ruin calls upon our imagination in a deeper, sharper way that romanticizing it does.

To restore what

has been destroyed, we have to resist seeing the landscape only the way it was, and learn to imagine

what is possible now.

When it comes to the losses and devastations around us and within us, how do we discern where God might

be calling us to begin the work of restoration? Not all ruins are meant for redemption, after all; some ruins

are for fleeing, not for fixing. How do we tell the difference?

Hear how they

do not cease

to walk with you,

even when the dark

is deepest.

Hear how they

encompass you always—

breathing this blessing to you,

bearing this blessing to you


Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

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