Excerpt from article
When you sneeze, does a person nearby—someone you might not even know—bestow a “bless you!” on your nose-wiping self?
When someone blesses my sneezing self, I smile a thank you in his direction. I am grateful to any person who can lift an unnoticed or embarrassing moment into a smiling interaction. I get the sense that the person who has blessed me has blessed herself as well.
But, when we trip up, physically or metaphorically, do we say, “Bless me”?
One of my sweetest and closest friends, who unconditionally adores his grandchildren, curses himself nonverbally in their presence when he spills or breaks something. The lesson his grandchildren pick up non-verbally about self-acceptance in those tiny moments is the opposite of what he intends.
In little ways we barely notice, we bestow blessings (or their opposite) in any moment. Our spirit, touched by that gesture, glows or recoils in response. Instead of a blessing, I so often hear “How stupid!” or “Oh man, how clumsy can I get?”
Second chances wait like ripe peaches on a nearby tree, offering their sweetness to us for free. I snap off a peach every time I roll back my shoulders, breathe deeply and say, “Good for me.” The taste is sweet.
Originally Posted on Red Leaf Press Blog