The Blessing

You know that song The Blessing? (The Lord bless you and keep you…)

I hate it. 

Well, maybe not fully hate, but we definitely have a love-hate relationship. 

I love that it’s a blessing we sing to others that’s almost straight from scripture. I love how it pops into my head throughout the day. I love how it speaks to people and how people across the nation are singing it virtually with others over cities. 

But I also hate the song because when I’m singing it in wholeheartedly in worship, surrounded by massive numbers of people, it thrusts me into my deepest wound during the bridge of the song:

“May His favor be upon you for a thousand generations, and your family and your children and their children and their children…”

The song reminds me that my family won’t go on for a thousand generations. It stops with me. And that sucks.

And every time I sing that lyric, the reminder haunts me. 

Every. Single. Time.

In a moment, I’m transported to the day, my worst day, when my fears became reality and my legacy was reduced to the unmentionable.

And that’s frightening.

C.S. Lewis once wrote, “I never knew that grief felt so like fear.” He was right.

But then, in the midst of my mourning, I remember His presence. Even in my weakness, He is there. I recall that in my moment of loss, He was there, bringing comfort to my sorrow and glimpses of joy to my sadness.

And then, as the masses continue singing, I realize that they are part of my legacy along with a thousand other generations and my tears of my heartache mix with those of my rejoicing.

In the moment, I realize that the song has moved on, but He hasn’t. 

He’s still with me.

He’s been with me in my coming and going.

He’s been with me in my weeping and rejoicing.

He has blessed me and kept me.

He has given me peace. 

Amen.

*Image courtesy of Mauro Shared Pictures and Unsplash

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