The Mightier Word

This morning, I overheard a young man’s voice telling his father: “bless me, dad”. I am well acquainted with the word. This is the word of my friend Pierre, whom I grew up together with in the same neighborhood. Have I mentioned the word to you before? How can a word conjure up faces that have left the streets of our childhood to other faraway streets? How can a word erase, in a moment, three decades? Whenever Pierre wanted to leave their home, he would approach his father, kiss his hand, and ask for his blessing. “Bless me, dad”, he used to say it out loud, whether he was alone with him in the house, or whether a whole city was with them! He used to utter his word with the confidence of someone who is aware that the parents are intercessors before God. Is my father hiding in my memories? Pierre’s father reposed after my father did by around forty-five years. Some words make death seem weak. The word is always mightier!