Last night, Karen and I spent an evening at Kiddie Park. Some of the rides from my childhood are still operating. What an uplifting place. It exists for one reason. To make children laugh and smile. Not to mention the taller children like me. And if you are becoming a little jaded and cynical, one can find some form of comfort and balm for the soul here while sharing a cup of soft serve ice cream with your granddaughters.

It’s easy to lose your idealism these days, and to long for a time when the news seemed trustworthy, if not in fact, at least in perception.

I’m a Cronkite guy. Once Walter left us, I didn’t know where to turn. The news has never felt the same. There’s still that void, the feeling that something foundational is gone—something steady that once helped me make sense of the world.

The news still gets to me. At least denial softens the blow of what is happening in a bifurcated political landscape. It’s pretty awful, but not enough to wake me up in the middle of the night. My left hip has enough pain to wake me up in the wee hours without help from the fire hose feed of strange news.

After all the angst of the evening news, there is still this good earth, the moon, the stars, and every now and then, a blue sky. My granddaughter runs to me, putting her head between my knees. She calls out, “Bubs, up,” and I lift her, kiss her cheek, and stroke her curls. “You’re beautiful,” I tell her, “I love you.”

I’ve gone soft in my later years. I step around spiders. Haven’t killed a snake in decades. And occasionally, I look at a moment or thing or creature and offer a blessing. It might be a dog or a child or a neighbor. I don’t know if it helps the thing I bless, but it is good for me. I’ve even blessed the tomatoes in Karen’s garden.   

Blessing is one of those words that, for many, is used without much thought. The idea is to shower God’s grace on the subject so that it will have an abundant life. But what if we truly stopped to consider the power in it? Why can’t we bless more of the world around us? Why not Red Tailed Hawks and Black Billed Magpie? Or the cat that torments me daily? 

On a recent Friday afternoon, I heard three girls talking on the sidewalk outside my
office. They opened the door and entered the lobby. All the staff had gone home for the day. I listened, waiting for someone to ask if anyone was around, but heard nothing. Then, a silence that signals mischief. The rustling of candy wrappers from the reception desk, where a candy bowl famously sits. More footsteps, more candy rustles, and they retreated, closing the door softly behind them.
I glanced out my window and saw them sitting criss-cross applesauce on the sidewalk,
enjoying candy and quietly chatting like three regal high culture ladies sipping wine on
the deck of a cruise ship. I thought, “Well, bless them. I have no idea what they are up
to, but bless them.”

These little blessings are reminders of the beauty in the simplest moments. And speaking of blessings, my wife and I are celebrating forty years of marriage today. What a blessing to love someone, to share morning coffee, grandchildren, a garden, our faith in God. To put my arms around you, and know there is still love. There is music and dancing and eating from the same plate. There’s still the joy of seeing moments like when our daughter Lauren made a 3-point basket at the end of the game to beat the buzzer, making her team only lose 57-3, and going crazy like we had won. When we find blessings in moments of loss, life is worthwhile, no matter how badly we are losing. 

Yes, Mr. Cronkite, though we suffer, we are blessed. Through all the hardships we face, we still find blessings in the smallest moments. And each morning I awake not thinking of all the things that are wrong with the world, but what is possible. So many things to do and say and create, so much to love, to hold onto, to bless the beasts, the children, and the world.

These small blessings are reminders of the beauty in the simplest moments. And they lead me to think of what James Matthew Wilson says so well: “Be promiscuous with the sign of the cross. Let the shadow of your hand pass over everything, until all of creation, good in its being, has been raised up and consecrated by our thanksgiving and become a fit participant in a new heaven and a new earth.”