The other day out in the world, a very dignified elderly gentleman struck up a conversation with me about the cast on my arm. I explained that it had been a rollerblading accident, but that it was healing up nicely and the cast would be off before too long.
The man's face seemed to glow with benificence. "It's gonna heal," he told me. His deep southern voice reminded me of chocolate. "I know it's gonna heal." He very gently laid a hand on the cast and proclaimed, "By the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, you be blessed and healed."
What an odd gift to give a stranger! But he offered it so beautifully that the kindness of it brought a tear pricking to my eye, and I thanked him profusely. "Thank you, sir. Bless you."
It was an absolutely profound moment of beauty, which shifted rapidly when the man asked if I was married, and started to caution me that when I did get married God hates divorce and I needed to make sure I obeyed my husband.
The blessing I accept as the gift of utter kindness and love it was.
The advice, though? It's just not going to quite work for me. Obviously. He was so earnest that I'm sure it was offered with just as much kindness as the blessing, but that is not the world in which I walk.
But for a moment, two worlds intersected just long enough for a blessing to be given, and that contact was a blessing in itself.