When my grandfather turned 90 years old, his health began spiraling downward, and I was called home to see him in the hospital for what proved to be the last time I would see him alive.

Grandpa had been a pioneer of the Pentecostal movement. He'd been one of the old "brush arbor" preachers, a traveling evangelist, and a pastor throughout his ministry career. He was highly respected by all who knew him, and was truly the spiritual patriarch of our family.

Whenever the clan gathered at holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, or any other occasion, it was "Brother Pepper" or "Grandpa Pepper" who was asked to pray over our meals, pray over us when we were sick, pray for us when we traveled, and so on. We all looked up to this father of the faith, who had been an ordained minister for over 75 years in his denomination, and had lived an honorable and godly life.

That day in the hospital was a mixture of sadness and giggles as my grandfather went in and out of hilarious hallucinations (because of the morphine) like asking us to please remove the herd of buffalo from his hospital room. We'd joke with him about it, and pull him back into reality once again. But the time came when I had to go back to my hometown, and I stood up to say goodbye.

"I have to go now, grandpa," I said as I stood directly in front of him. He looked up at me, and with clear eyes, and keen clarity of mind, he reached out and took my hands in his. Looking straight into my eyes he began to express his love and gratitude to me, and then he began to bless me.

It was one of those moments where everything and everyone around you fades into the background, and it was as though only he and I were in the room. I was suddenly aware that this was no ordinary goodbye, but that this was truly a divine moment.

As he held my hands, this old saint of God began blessing my life. He blessed my business. He blessed my ministry. He blessed my possessions. He blessed my finances, and my relationships. He blessed my present, and he blessed my future. As I listened to him, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was receiving an Abrahamic blessing. I had a four-hour drive to get home, and the tears streamed down my face the entire way.

It was about two weeks later in church that we had a guest minister preaching. When he gave an altar call, I didn't feel like it applied to me at all. But I had a strong sense that I was to go up for prayer anyway, so I did. When the minister got to me, he took my hands and before anything could be said, he nearly buckled at the knees.

"These hands!" he declared, "These hands are so blessed! They are so blessed! It's like there's a 'baruch' blessing on them! In fact these hands are so blessed, here - put them on my head and bless me!"

I was as stunned as I'm sure everyone else in the room was, but I obeyed. He then began declaring that anyone else that wanted to receive a part of that blessing needed to come up and have me lay hands on them. And so it was.

That was the first time in my life I'd heard of a "baruch" blessing. I went to the minister after to service and asked him what that was. I discovered the word is a Hebrew word that means blessing. He told me it was the blessing a Jewish father gives to his children, such as when Abraham blessed Isaac.

I knew it! I had known in my heart that what my grandfather had given me was an authentic Abrahamic blessing, but this was my confirmation. There was something about that blessing that left a profound impact on me. I don't really know how to describe the confidence and inner security that it put in my life.

This article is part 2 of The Power of Blessing Your Children. Part 1 is entitled My Father's Blessing. Part 3 is entitled God Blessed His Son.

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