Ireceived a link to a new book by Rachel Naomi Remen entitled My Grandfather's Blessings. Of course, it piqued my interest, having had the final goodbye to my grandfather yesterday, so I read the following excerpt with curiosity. I feel tired after the emotionally demanding last few days. My grandfather's Memorial Service and funeral was beautiful, and everything he would've hoped it would be. Things are settling back into a rhythm. I keep testing and bolusing and balancing, best I can, but I've been on autopilot these days. But fall is in the air, little twinges of change and crisp new beginnings, and I'm ready for the natural transition, though summer will be missed. I'm still wearing my Birks and shorts, but have a merino cardigan on and know it's about that time. And since I'm behind on my homework and writing for grad school, I've got to give myself a little extra time to get back on track, so in lieu of my own words today, I'm giving you Rachel's. May they speak to you as they spoke to me and may we each open ourselves more to the blessings around us and in us.
" Receiving Your Blessings" by Rachel Naomi Remen
M ost of us have been given many more blessings than we have
received. We do not take time to be blessed or make the space for it.
We may have filled our lives so full of other things that we have no
room to receive our blessings. One of my patients once told me that she
has an image of us all being circled by our blessings, sometimes for
years, like airplanes in a holding pattern at an airport, stacked up
with no place to land. Waiting for a moment of our time, our attention.
People with serious illness have often let go of a great deal;
their illness has created an opening in their lives for the first time.
They may discover ways to receive all the blessings they are given,
even those that were given long ago. Such people have shown me how to
receive my blessings.
Many years ago I cared for a woman called Mae Thomas. Mae had grown
up in Georgia and while she had lived in Oakland, California, for many
years, she had in some profound way never left the holy ground of her
childhood. She had worked hard all her life, cleaning houses in order
to raise seven children and more than a few grandchildren. By the time
I met her, she had grown old and was riddled with cancer.
Mae celebrated life. Her laugh was a pure joy. It made you remember
how to laugh yourself. All these years later, just thinking of her
makes me smile. As she became sicker, I began to call her every few
days to check in on her. She would always answer the phone in the same
way. I would say "Mae, how ya doin'?" and she would chuckle and reply,
"I'm blessed, Sister. I am blessed."
The night before she died, I called, and her family had brought the
phone to her. "Mae," I said. "It's Rachel." I could hear her coughing
and clearing her throat, looking to find breath enough to speak in a
lung filled with cancer, willing herself past a fog of morphine to
connect to my voice. Tears stung my eyes. "Mae," I said. "It's Rachel.
How ya doin'?" There was a sound I could not identify, which slowly
unwrapped itself into a deep chuckle. "I'm blessed, Rachel. I am
blessed," she told me. Mae was one of those people. And so, perhaps,
are we all.
Martin Buber reminds us that just to live is holy. Just to be is a
blessing. If Buber is right, what keeps us from receiving life's
blessings? It is not always so simple a thing as a lack of time. Often
we may not recognize a blessing when it is given, or we may have ideas
about life that keep us from experiencing what we already have.
Sometimes we become frozen in the past or unaware of the potential in
the present. We may even come to feel entitled to what has been given
us by grace. Or we may become so caught up in what is missing in the
world that we allow our hearts to break. There are many ways to feel
empty in the midst of our blessings.
We can bless others only when we feel blessed ourselves. Blessing
life may be more about learning how to celebrate life than learning how
to fix life. It may require an appreciation of life as it is and an
acceptance of much in life that we cannot understand. It may mean
developing an eye for joy. It is not necessary to sit in judgment in
order to move things forward, and our anger may not be the most potent
tool for change. Most important, it requires the humility to know that
we are not in this task of restoring the world alone.
" Receiving Your Blessings" by Rachel Naomi Remen
M ost of us have been given many more blessings than we have received. We do not take time to be blessed or make the space for it. We may have filled our lives so full of other things that we have no room to receive our blessings. One of my patients once told me that she has an image of us all being circled by our blessings, sometimes for years, like airplanes in a holding pattern at an airport, stacked up with no place to land. Waiting for a moment of our time, our attention.
People with serious illness have often let go of a great deal; their illness has created an opening in their lives for the first time. They may discover ways to receive all the blessings they are given, even those that were given long ago. Such people have shown me how to receive my blessings.
Many years ago I cared for a woman called Mae Thomas. Mae had grown up in Georgia and while she had lived in Oakland, California, for many years, she had in some profound way never left the holy ground of her childhood. She had worked hard all her life, cleaning houses in order to raise seven children and more than a few grandchildren. By the time I met her, she had grown old and was riddled with cancer.
Mae celebrated life. Her laugh was a pure joy. It made you remember how to laugh yourself. All these years later, just thinking of her makes me smile. As she became sicker, I began to call her every few days to check in on her. She would always answer the phone in the same way. I would say "Mae, how ya doin'?" and she would chuckle and reply, "I'm blessed, Sister. I am blessed."
The night before she died, I called, and her family had brought the phone to her. "Mae," I said. "It's Rachel." I could hear her coughing and clearing her throat, looking to find breath enough to speak in a lung filled with cancer, willing herself past a fog of morphine to connect to my voice. Tears stung my eyes. "Mae," I said. "It's Rachel. How ya doin'?" There was a sound I could not identify, which slowly unwrapped itself into a deep chuckle. "I'm blessed, Rachel. I am blessed," she told me. Mae was one of those people. And so, perhaps, are we all.
Martin Buber reminds us that just to live is holy. Just to be is a blessing. If Buber is right, what keeps us from receiving life's blessings? It is not always so simple a thing as a lack of time. Often we may not recognize a blessing when it is given, or we may have ideas about life that keep us from experiencing what we already have. Sometimes we become frozen in the past or unaware of the potential in the present. We may even come to feel entitled to what has been given us by grace. Or we may become so caught up in what is missing in the world that we allow our hearts to break. There are many ways to feel empty in the midst of our blessings.
We can bless others only when we feel blessed ourselves. Blessing life may be more about learning how to celebrate life than learning how to fix life. It may require an appreciation of life as it is and an acceptance of much in life that we cannot understand. It may mean developing an eye for joy. It is not necessary to sit in judgment in order to move things forward, and our anger may not be the most potent tool for change. Most important, it requires the humility to know that we are not in this task of restoring the world alone.