I have a small home with a backyard that you can cover in two giant steps. To make an interesting combination I also own a very large dog that can hardly turn in that amount of space. So I take Jack across the street to the middle-school and set him loose. I serve tennis balls with the swing of a racquet and watch as he tears across the soccer field. He was mid-retrieve when I noticed a little girl riding back and forth on other side of the fence. She dropped her bike and lay down in the grass. She was pensive and quiet. In this inner city neighborhood full of kids it was noticeable that she was alone. She watched as my dog ran up and down the field. Though she was far away I smiled and threw Jack's ball in her direction so she could get a better show.

And so it went. I watched her from the distance and wondered what her life was like. I questioned what I could do for a girl that I might never meet, a girl who passed in and out of my life in the same sentence.

Standing in the middle of that soccer field, not even close enough to see her face, I remembered what I had read that morning. I was half-heartedly drudging through a list of laws in the book of Numbers when I saw it tucked away in a record of infractions and punishments.

Those verses slipped off my tongue, I've heard them so many times and sang a dozen benedictions that repeat the same beautiful words. But what came next never makes it into the standard blessing:

I wasn't entirely sure what it meant but I wanted to put God's name on that girl. Praying back the blessing I looked at her. And then I just said the name of Jesus.

I don't think my prayer was magic, that it forgave her sins or created in her a new life…but I do know that it reminded me that God made that little girl and that he loves her with a deep love. So it has become a habit, I'll walk down the street and see the homeless man that sleeps on the front stoop of a church. I put God's name on him and stop long enough to let the tension of his poverty weigh me down. The woman who cut in front of me at post office gets the same blessing. I put the name of Jesus on her and then look up until I catch her eye. I smile. How could I not? I was staring into a face that God tenderly sculpted. Even I get the name put on me, when I make a mistake or don't live up to my own expectations. I remember that I belong to Jesus and he's not into selling, discarding or trading up.

There is power in that name and I know that when I wake up in the night frightened, to say the name of Jesus is stronger and more comforting than a sunrise. A barely audible "Sweet Jesus" when I hear of suffering and tragedy is perhaps on open prayer, leaving room for God himself to fill in the details of my plea. It's in the name of Jesus that we pray when we sit down to a meal. Whether the feeding is an all out affair on our finest china and with dear friends, or a paper napkin and a Tupperware full of warm leftovers as I stretch out on the couch and watch TV. There's power in the name of Jesus when I stand in the empty parish hall after all the kids and volunteers have gone home. I thank him for the gifts and hearts that moments ago filled this very room.

I'm sure blessings of peace change the willing heart of a receiver but perhaps the greatest movement comes in our own hearts when we realize that the tender words of Jesus bring dignity, peace and healing. To bless another soul is to remind yourself how precious that person is.

To bless a stranger is to consider that his blessing might be you.

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2004