Being Blessed Is…

Being Blessed Is canstockphoto27618750

by Claudia Gold c Blessed with Wounds, 2015

Author’s Aside: I’ve had a bunch of blessings lately from working in a hospital with children with brain injuries so a couple of these precious moments are included amongst lighter blessings


Being Blessed Is:

Having memory – any memory, long-term, short-term, medium-term, tiny-term.

Laughing and confiding in an old friend from high-school, who you liked then, and you can see why!

Calling the IRS, and the representative (who identifies you as number 3867051) saying that they made a mistake, you don’t owe $15,000, they apologize for any IRS stress they caused you now or at any other time in your life – and you launch into a song from “Fiddler on the Roof”, with amusement at singing to an IRS representative: “To Life, to Life, L’Chaim.”

Opening the mailbox and finding a hand-written letter to you in it, instead of advertisements falling out of it.

Seeing a teenager known to be very funny and do impersonations, who after a bike accident leaving him in hospitals for a craniotomy and multiple post surgeries for months, learning again to talk and walk, says from his hospital bed: The best place in the world is where I can make my father laugh.”

Visiting a teen who had a skateboard accident and is “waking up” and learning to talk and walk again. When you say good-bye to her and “I love you”, she says, “I love you more.”

Seeing your young adult child (whatever he or she may have done and you have gone to a support group about in the last few years) — hearing his or her voice, after not seeing that cherished child for a half hour, day, month or year(s).

Grand-parenting little awesome children that go home after a long, sweet, tiring day with them.

Holding a little dog who adores you with a consistency like no other (and wondering if he loves you more than your husband does or did, but you won’t write that), and being licked, just for saying something silly like, “Bu-bu.”

A friend coming over to help you get rid of 10 boxes of old papers – the kind that have little fish-worms in them (ooh).

Hearing on NPR about an 87-year-old who won a marathon, or a 90-year-old yoga teacher, and considering that your time when the sweet chariot swings low, “coming for to carry me home”, will possibly be later than you thought.                                  

A conversation with someone who “gets you” and tells you how precious and awesome you are, and they are not at a mall booth trying to sell you face cream made from the Dead Sea Scrolls in Israel for $120.

Taking a walk by a body of water, seeing pelicans, redwoods, a mountain, (like Mt. Charleston) a lady-bug – any mystery of nature, where your cares unravel, and ways of seeing them with ease and joy unfold as you meander, ignoring for a time the dishes, bills and piles on the counter.

Being grateful for health – partial health, whatever health you have compared to someone who unfortunately does not have that much now, even if one or more of your senses is needing modern science and technology to function like they did when you were 17, and some of the gaskets are wearing. Dancing with the joy that years of tests have sculpted in your heart, and with your body that is still hot in its own way – if only from sweating.

A hug with someone so different from you in size or background – an unexpected hug with someone who speaks another language and looks at you with kind, sparkling eyes, with a two-year old who beams after the hug, or with a festive tree – a magnolia tree with gazillion blooms from buds to fully open, white flowers.

Being of service to someone or something – even if it is taking the friendly spider out of the shower on a shampoo bottle, or saying, “Excuse me” to yourself when you bump your thigh on the door.

Eating a toasted cheese tortilla with salsa at Macayo Vegas – or having the memory of one, sitting across from friends chatting about the most important topic in the world, the boy you each like (hopefully not the same boy – that never went well).

Sharing a preview of this column “Being Blessed Is…” with Jeri Amblad, your vivacious, red-headed journalism teacher from high school (30 or 40 or so years ago) and her saying, “Loved it!” before giving suggestions for editing.

When your needs and another’s collide, letting go of being right and seeing with solo-vision, and stumbling over rocks of ego until you find forgiveness, soul vision and the love you’ve dreampt of – unconditional love! (if only for a month until you have to do the damn thing all over again).

Having faith in the Creator, and in the gifts in yourself – every moment of that, even in you have much gray hair that you think about dying to look younger, and thighs thrice the size of the women in “In Style”.

blessed 9

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