When Blessings Knock Soft and You Too Busy Talkin’ Loud

When Blessings Knock Soft and You Too Busy Talkin’ Loud

By Kateb Shunnar

I spent a lot of years thinkin’ I had this life thing figured out, chest out, walkin’ like the Creator must’ve whispered the instructions in my ear personally. But man, listen confidence can be loud, but it don’t mean it’s right. I’d wake up with my mind already made, convinced I knew what was best for me, only to get humbled before lunchtime. Everything I claimed I didn’t need? Turns out I actually did. Everything I wanted real bad? Whew, I had no business chasin’ half of it. Our understanding mine, yours, everybody’s is just limited, point-blank. We misjudge everything from people to opportunities to our own purpose. If it feels good, we assume it’s good. If it feels uncomfortable, we rebuke it like it’s a scam call. And that’s why we push away blessings like they’re mosquitoes instead of miracles.

I mean, let’s be real: I’ve rejected peace because it seemed suspicious. I’ve chosen chaos just ’cause it felt familiar. I’ve run toward red flags like they were parade banners. And I’ve turned down things the Creator sent because the packaging didn’t match my fantasy. If the blessing didn’t walk in lookin’ shiny, impressive, charismatic, and familiar? I’d give it the side-eye like it was tryin’ to sell me insurance. You know that feeling when something’s good but it’s quiet? And you think, “Nah, this too calm. Somethin’ wrong.” But really, the issue wasn’t the blessing it was me being used to confusion.

It took me years to understand that discomfort can be divine. That the Creator will send you strength disguised as loss, wisdom wrapped in inconvenience, and blessings wearin’ dusty shoes. I didn’t like that lesson. But I needed it. Because every time I said, “This ain’t my type,” or “This don’t fit my vision,” or “This is too slow,” or “This is too good to be true,” what I was really sayin’ was, “Creator, I don’t trust Your process. Lemme do it my way.” And my way kept landin’ me in the same tired lessons like I was takin’ summer school in my own life.

Now let me tell you about this little folk tale that drifted into my spirit one night, sittin’ under them old oak trees that lean over the sidewalks like they got secrets. It’s the Tale of Miss Naomie-Claire and the Blessing with Dusty Shoes. And let me tell you, when I tell you this story whupped me spiritually? Just listen.

There was once a woman in old New Orleans named Miss Naomie-Claire, who lived in a pretty little house with chipped paint she pretended she didn’t see and a porch swing that swayed even with no wind. This woman was elegant and stubborn, the kind who could look a man up and down and catalog his flaws before he finished sayin’ hello. She believed she’d know a blessing the moment she saw it. “If the Creator send it,” she’d say, “it’ll shine. It’ll sparkle.” Which sounds cute. And delusional.

One day she stood on her porch and hollered at the heavens, “Creator, I’m ready. Send me somethin’ good. And don’t send it small!” And the Creator patient as only the Creator can be sent a blessing. But the blessing arrived with dusty shoes, tired eyes, and a humble presence like he’d walked through half the state to get to her. Miss Naomie-Claire looked him up and down and said, “Mm-mm. My blessing wouldn’t track in dirt.” And she closed the door.

Weeks later, the Creator tried again. This blessing had clean shoes but mismatched socks. A little awkward. Still good, still purposeful. She squinted at him and said, “Baby, I asked for favor, not confusion,” and turned him away too.

Months passed. She complained again. Loudly. So the Creator sent another blessing tall, handsome, well-spoken, immaculately dressed. The whole package. Folks say even the sun hit him different. But when he knocked, Miss Naomie-Claire had trained herself to doubt even the good. She narrowed her eyes, judged him like a panelist on a talent show, and closed the door soft like regret.

And from that day on, people swore the Creator carved a quiet truth into her spirit: “If you keep rejecting the blessings I send, stop complainin’ about what you lack.” When that story came to me, I felt it deep. Because I’ve been Miss Naomie-Claire just with more facial hair and more pride.

I’ve shut out people who were good for me because they didn’t look like what I imagined. I’ve turned away opportunities because they didn’t stroke my ego. I’ve doubted gentle things because they weren’t dramatic enough. And I’ve stayed loyal to noise because silence made me face myself. And the worst part? Sometimes the Creator sent help through a person I didn’t expect or a moment I didn’t like, and I said, “No thank you,” like I had the blueprint to my own destiny in my back pocket.

But here’s the truth no one likes to say out loud: negativity will borrow anybody’s voice. Family. Friends. Strangers. Your own thoughts when you tired. And if you don’t learn the Creator’s tone if you don’t learn His frequency those borrowed voices will talk you right out of the path meant for you. I used to say, “I don’t need nobody; I can do bad by myself.” And the Creator said, “Okay,” and let me do exactly that. Not as punishment. As proof.

These days, I don’t trust my impulses like I used to. I trust the Creator’s nudges. I trust the stillness. I trust that subtle tightening in my chest when somethin’ ain’t right. I trust the calm that shows up uninvited when somethin’ is aligned. And the older I get, the more I understand that the Creator handles you the way you handle others. If you uplift people, life lifts you. If you ignore what’s good, blessings learn to walk past your address. It’s a mirror, not a mystery.

Now let me stretch this ending like dough because growth needs space. I used to think the Creator was blockin’ me when things didn’t work out. Now I know He was protectin’ me. From situations I romanticized. From people I misjudged as good. From versions of myself I had outgrown but wouldn’t release. Sometimes the “no” was the most sacred blessing wrapped in disappointment. And every door that stayed shut? It saved me.

When you finally stop tryin’ to control everything and start lettin’ the Creator actually guide you, life opens up like the river at sunrise. Quiet. Wide. Honest. And my friend , it feels good. It feels like relief. Like somethin’ in your chest unclenched for the first time in years. Like breathin’ without bracing. Like the first cool breeze after a humid New Orleans week the kind that makes you close your eyes and whisper, “Thank You…I almost missed this.”

And that’s where I’m standin’ now. Not perfect. Not finished. But willing. I’ve learned to stop pushin’ away the quiet gifts just because they ain’t loud enough to distract me from myself. I’ve learned to open the door softer. I’ve learned to listen deeper. And I’ve learned that if a blessing shows up wearin’ dusty shoes, tired eyes, mismatched socks, or calm energy I’m invitin’ it in. Because I refuse to miss what’s meant for me ever again. And … neither should you.

Kateb Shunnar

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