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Dona Nobis Pacem ~ The Tundra Year
When we started peace globes in 2006, I wrote a post called The Silence of Peace about the influence of my beloved grandfather on my formative years and how he shaped the way I see the world. He's been gone a long time and I still miss him so much, but his words and actions live on through the peace globes that fly each year around the Internet world, requiring us to think about peace and what it means to us.
My mission was to see the words Dona nobis pacem (Latin for Grant us Peace) scrawled on the roughly 70 million blogs reported to exist at that time, just for one day. A simple idea of unity and intention. I was a naive new blogger, overly-ambitious, trusting in the goodness of people and the wisdom of goodness. My heart was full of expectation and joy.
Were there 70 million posts? No. But words hold power, whether seven or seventy. What happened over the years proved quality over quantity matters. We've become a lovely worldwide community of connected poets, writers and artists. When Blogging moved to many other social media platforms, the peace globes moved with them. And yet, each year, we find ourselves here again to blog for peace and share our thoughts with the world.
It's been my honor to speak peace with you all these years.
In the year 2025, I write to answer the question, 'What brings me peace?'
only to find that I've landed in the same truth. Full Circle.
Deep down on the inside of me I could feel it as I wrote it again. In 2006, I wrote about the day I first felt real peace in my life. And this year, it all came tumbling out on the blog page again, along with my tears - vivid memories, no abandon, no regret, now solidly entrenched in the core of this little blog movement. I wrote. You wrote. We all said the same thing from 214 countries and territories. Then came The Doll Box, river words, Papa's fedora and much much more.
So I honor my grandfather, my Papa, today.
Returning to the framework he built from day one, in my writer's eye I could see a wooden railing in a little country church, graced by the presence of a kneeling praying grandfather, who wore a white starched shirt and all the faith he had on his sleeve. I traveled back in time to a memory that is as clear and palpable today as it was in the 1970s and as it reappeared on this blog in 2006. What have I learned in twenty years? The.power.of.words.
One night he took me by the hand and led me to the altar with him.
He knelt down on one knee, elbow resting on the other, and silently voiced his heart. Tightly grasping my hand with his left hand, I knelt beside him, snuggled under the arm of his tweed jacket, surrounded by the presence of many such men who sought God that Fall revival night. In a country church in the middle of the middle of nowhere on a crisp autumn full moon evening, all of Heaven came to hear Papa and his friends talking to their Maker in worship and reverence.
They were surrendered.
I was mesmerized.
A buzz of spiritual language filled the room, groanings and cries, hallelujahs, amens, tears and pleas, laughter, joy, community. Then just as suddenly, and much louder ~ silence and stillness.
A Presence fell.
Is there anything more beautiful than a room full of true worshippers in unity, unashamed, locked in, gathered around a sacred wooden altar, holding court with God Almighty? I think not. I know not.
What a privilege it was to behold, to experience. My fourteen-year-old hippie-bent soul wanted more. From that day on, I ran after that feeling.
I felt the power, as undeniable as the appliqued flower-power daisy plastered to my jeans, as sweet as the smell of Papa's tobacco pipe-infused tweed coat, and as safe as the crook of his arm; the place where I loved to linger, where I learned to listen in the wee hours of a work morning as he gathered his things for the day, whispering "Dear Gracious Heavenly Father" as only a granddaughter can hear, as he lovingly lifted lyrics to Heaven on my behalf. They covered me. He covered me. Jesus covered both of us. Those words held connection to eternity. In turn, those utterings and unctions kept him reaching higher and higher. And I kept reaching for him.
Because he was the place of peace that I needed.
A place where his unconditional love yielded safety and calm.
A place where no separation exists.
He knew how to find it.
And I wanted it.
OVer the years he taught me how to find it by his example,
so that when he couldn't be with me, I could find it myself.
I know that Presence to this day, because Papa birthed it in me. He still holds my hand and I still hear his voice, rising and falling, gently squeezing my small fingers with each inhalation and nuance of prayer. Wherever the Spirit led him, I went too.
It was so holy I could barely breathe.
I've spent this entire year deliberately inserting myself into that space again. Distractions have plagued me, physical struggles have been challenging, sickness and stress. The toll on my mind and body has been significant. This has been a year of pain and falling down, only to rise and fall again, reaching for that space of quiet and strength.
I call it The Tundra Year -
a long cold winter of the soul and a short cool summer.
And yet....inside of me an arsenal of weaponry appeared, quite boldly, and firmly at my disposal. It smelled of wooden benches and tobacco tweed.
By the bedside on my knees, gently walking in the forest, weeping with frustration, calling on my Maker, hunkering down into healing Scriptures, studying remedy and science, writing, angry whining, falling again, questioning, rising and starting over.
Has your faith ever been tested in the fire? This was my year.
Then one day, just as surely as winter snow creates new intricate patterns on leaves in the forest,
a renewing of my mind fiercely began.
But it wasn't easy. The process caught up to my jagged wonky physical complexities and made the battle more intense for awhile. Like a flash of dangerous lightning attempting to disguise itself inside thunder, once more it tried to sap my strength and make me weak.
I began to say it. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.
I began to believe it. I began to walk in it. I stopped falling down.
Until I landed in the Grace that had been there all along.
I am on a healing journey. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong!
My journey of faith and prayer and peace began at that altar of supplication in the 70s, where I witnessed what it is, what it looks like, what it sounds like, what it feels like to focus energy and love and compassion with all your might before a Mighty Creator.
Likewise, we focus energy and love and peace and compassion with all our might on the world we share on the cusp of each November.
I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.
You must believein the power of your words. Say something. Speak right things over yourself, your family and your world. See yourself healed. See the world healed. Pray for your neighbors and your enemies. Lift your thoughts to a higher realm, where peace and rest is not only possible but expected.
Papa expected the world to change when he prayed.
So do I.
There is no other option.
Where's your altar?
Does your heart flow from there?
"Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter." (Psalm 74.17)
My Tundra has been no difference or worse than most everyone on the planet this year. This verse gives me courage. Papa would approve.
Why did he feel compelled to pull me to the altar with him that night? Why did he hold on so tight, forming an unbroken chain between my hand, his hand, and God's hand? It remains.
His act of love nd obedience changed the course of my life. In that moment I found God's peace for the first time in my life. Transfer. Synergy. Life-altering, Truth. Only Divine LOVE does that.
I still believe in the power of words as has been our motto for twenty years. I believe in the collective power of intention. I believe in you as you speak Dona Nobis Pacem one more time into the atmosphere. One voice. One subject. One day.
Happy 20th anniversary, Dear Peace Bloggers!
What started from a bowl of Papa's earth marbles has gathered writers and artists from all walks, religions and backgrounds speaking into each other and for our troubled world, just as Papa spoke his prayers and love into me. In summer. And in cold dark winters.
Powerful words spoken in love must make a difference ..... breathing and birthing and shaking and sifting towards change - in our own hearts first, where it always begins- until we reach the dawning of a new peace-laden world for everyone.
God speed that day and God bless each and every one of you.
All 2025 Blog4Peace participants! Leave links below and in the comments.
NOTE: 2024 links are included in this widget as well!
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Dona Nobis Pacem ~
Hold The Light
The year was 1968. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy had been slain. Our country was in turmoil. The controversial war in Vietnam polarized our politics and our hearts. Richard Milhous Nixon was about to become the 37th President of the United States.
I was about to begin my education.
It started at the back door.
A knock.
"Come on in, Joe!" Papa exclaimed with a laugh. "And Joe, come around to the front door. I'll let you in." In some areas of the south in the sixties, visiting black men in small town USA, still did not approach the front door of a white man's residence. Fifty-six years later, we've made progress...but there is much work to do.
I do not know the direction my Grandfather's politics would have taken had he lived to see this election, but I can promise you one thing: the candidate's social status, the color of his skin, his religious affiliation, political slant, or the cost of his shoes would not have mattered. Papa's welcomes were equally sincere and easily given.
The man needed a job. He couldn't feed his family. I heard low whispers from the living room and shuffling of money. My grandmother brought coffee and cake; then the front door shut.
Lesson one duly noted.
At my grandfather's wake, literally half the town showed up. There was a "colored" funeral home and "white" funeral home. It was out of the ordinary for blacks to visit the dead on the other side of the tracks.
But visit they did.
I heard stories I'd never heard.
"One day at work, your Papa noticed my feet were almost bare.
He gave me his shoes."
" He helped me and my family keep our home."
"He brought groceries to our house and in the winter he kept our furnace lit."
"He paid my telephone bill and brought toys for Christmas."
"He bought school clothes for my kids."
Apparently, he'd been sneaking around with blessing baskets for years. Then I started to remember those strange quiet back door whispers, "coincidental" meetings on the sidewalk, times when my grandmother had to suddenly whip up a chocolate cake, and rides in his station wagon to places he never talked about. "Stay here, Sis. I'll be right back," he'd say. I always wondered what those porch conversations were about. Now I know.
He was the bridge builder. And the door opener.
And the example of moral courage in my life.
He was my light holder
Today, when I visit his double-hearted spirit in the cemetery, I'm reminded of this photo. When I developed the picture long ago, my shadow had fallen across the stone. It looks as though we are perfectly in sync - still. Now, I choose to let my shadow fall upon his and allow his to fall upon mine. With whom do you align? Choose carefully.
It started me thinking how my time has eerily overlapped his time - a slice of American history that was shameful in so many respects - the abundance of ignorance, the quest for power, were just background noise to the voices that truly mattered...those that marched and voted and wrote policy.
What it boils down to is the right of all persons to be treated with dignity and respect.
Those voices still speak in us.
Collectively, we are more than a stump speech and a soundbite.
The voices of our time matter too.
Unrest and violence prevailed in 1968.
Unrest and violence still thunder in 2024.
Please hold the light for those in darkness
Please hold the light for those in need
Set your foot rightly,
for the downtrodden
might come to your door
Let it deliver and emancipate like Peter's shadow in the Book of Acts.
Let it heal people. Let it love people.
That's what light does.
***************
Peace Bloggers,
Please leave your links here and in the comment section. Tag me on FB.
PROMO: The annual Blog4Peace event will take place on Monday, November 4, 2024. This special event is held worldwide with bloggers, social media posters and individuals from over 200 countries and nations taking part. Below is a direct link to the Blog4Peace website with details, art images and more. Please visit and remember to post your art in support of Hold The Light for peace. Nov 4, 2024
Many thanks to graphic designer, Ann Adamus! Original image Pixabay
When was the last time you held the Light for someone?
These days it seems that the whole world is stumbling around in darkness. If we listen to the loudest and most critical voices, we can easily come to that conclusion.
But it's not so.
We don't have to watch people stumble or be confused. We don't have to respond. We don't have to add to the momentum of suffering and deceit in this world by default.
Do you know that there are people who need you to hold the light for them?
Hold space. Hold the line. Hold the Light.
We're all having a hard time right now.
I'm not talking about judging them or trying to convince them to go your way - there's too much of that happening already.
We can love people without agreeing with them.
Can't we?
When I was a little girl, my Dad worked on cars and faucets and mechanical issues around the house. He could fix anything. I was his "light holder." I wasn't very good at it and sometimes he'd fuss if the caged light I was holding swerved to the left or the right. Why was he frustrated with me?
Because I had one job. ONE JOB.
And that job was to hold the light for him.
His task was daunting. It was dark and he was weary. He needed to SEE.
I couldn't see what he was seeing and I certainly couldn't help him; but I could stand steady and still, listening to his voice and directions, offering illumination and support.
He didn't need a play-by-play of why I couldn't hold the light still or what my opinion was about how he was fixing things. My opinion, my argument, my sass...didn't matter.
I had one job.
He couldn't do the job without me and that light.
(template to use)
You don't have to speak to hold it - just hold it.
You don't have to expose or uncover or guide or judge the path they have chosen.
You just have to be there and let them find their way.
AND SOMETIMES....holding a Light means railing against injustices and CHANGE that needs to happen!
Your words won't help them see
but the unconditional silent steady light and TRUTH flowing from you to them
held without judgment
without opinion
without directions
means that the one needing light has a clear path to make decisions
one that isn't muddied with your opinion, your "rightness" or the loudest voice
whether they're fixing a carburetor or mapping out a plan for world peace
or choosing the leader of the free world
The most powerful words of all are the ones we deliver in deed.
Sometimes that means standing still
and holding a Light
We can do that, right?
How will you do that?
That is the question I want us, as peace bloggers, to answer
************
Nov 4, 2024 Bloggers and social media posters from all over the world will
Blog for Peace
We will speak with one voice
one subject
one day
You may use the logo/text below on your blogs.
Many thanks to graphic designer Ann Adamus!
The annual Blog4Peace event will take place on Monday, November 4, 2024. This special event is held worldwide with bloggers, social media posters and individuals from over 200 countries and nations taking part. Below is a direct link to the Blog4Peace website with details, art images and more. Please visit and remember to post your art in support of Hold The Light for peace. November 4, 2024.
Welcome to the 18th annual Blog4Peace aka Dona Nobis Pacem in the Blogosphere. We will post Saturday and Sunday, Nov 4-5th wherever you are online.
Please leave your blog or post link in the MR. LINKY below or in the comments section or tag me on social media. Your peace globe will be added to the Official Gallery of Peace Globes
With what? asked the tired peace blogger on the eve of Dona Nobis Pacem.
My peace boxes
For weeks I've known that the box marked "Early Writings" in the back of the closet would provide the backbone of my peace post. And is my usual custom, I waited until nigh the hour to investigate.
"Fill up the peace angel boxes with words you will choose from your fairly ancient writings.
I will show you the pattern..."
Ha Ha, Lord. That's a funny comment you made. Ancient, eh? But You know best. Let's begin.
And just like I've picked up Papa's hammer or his earth marble in years past, I listened.
I am nothing if not obedient.
Inside the closet box I found love poems....lots of silly love poems. Anguished teenage diaries, college essays, journals, quotes, love letters written and received, peace signs and flower power patches, concert tickets....all in the box. It was the seventies and I was young and overly sensitive about most things; and yet...when I read my teenage epiphanies today, I realize not much in the way of what I really care about has changed.
Peace. Relationships. Music. God. Rinse Repeat.
Life happened. I became a very young bride back in the days before electricity (ahem). We made our first home in a little mobile house in the middle of the woods.
It was clean and efficient, secluded and perfect for two. And because I grew up with a grandfather whose favorite pastime was folding his hands in prayer, the first thing I did was make a prayer and meditation room. A floor cushion, a cross, a Bible, a picture of Jesus, and a candle traveled with me to our first real house in the suburbs.
That was denominational "meditation" back in the day. I've learned and adjusted much since, adding A Course in Miracles later; nonetheless, it was a fine foundation when I didn't even realize I was building a spiritual practice.
Wherever we lived, I needed a room. A place to be quiet. A place to pray. A sanctuary of my own away from noise and life's chaos. That has not changed in my ancient times (thanks Lord) though sometimes the "room" is under the wide canopy of an oak tree in the stillness of woods and rocks on my little mountain.
And that's what I did in that little flat-roof suburban house while I waited for our baby to arrive.
Every day. Every day. Every day.
at precisely 4:10 pm
It was my favorite part of the day. I couldn't wait to shut the door, kneel on the floor and spend some time alone with God and my writing journal. Going IN the room was like being siphoned into a vortex.
I was drawn into it.
I knew the "meeting" had been called to order as soon as I shut the door behind me. Palpable presence and peace. The atmosphere was climate controlled by a Presence I can only describe as perfect peace and joy. He never failed to meet me there. When I gave Him my time and attention, He gave me strong weapons: patience, love, clarity, compassion, a softer heart, inspiration, mindfulness, solace
peace
When I was a little girl, I watched my Papa change atmospheres all the time. It was as effortless as changing his hat. People acted differently when he was around. What he carried was palpable.
But the question is...where did he get it?
Papa's marbles
That's easy. Listen carefully. I'll tell you a secret.
He' s the one who taught me about the room.
His "room" is scorched in my mind.
His room was the Bible on the nightstand in a cold back bedroom, the first thing he touched in the morning.
His room meant devotions at dawn and scribbled scripture notes in the margins of books you weren't supposed to write in
His room gave thanks at mealtime.
His room was a recliner that welcomed silent sunrise prayers..
a place none of us disturbed (except the occasional kiss I planted on his forehead as I passed by on the way to breakfast, quietly, quietly you see....)
Hisroommeant gentle hands on my shoulder and a tug on my sleeve
There was a Lamp in his room
It showed us who he was, no need for preachy words.
It was fueled by The Book sprawled open on his lap - The Book from which he gathered his strength.
Copyright 1941 The Upper Room
His room was a well-worn pocket prayer book that he carried with him. Buried under a lifetime of rhymes in the box of many ancient words, I unearthed the small stained power book and its leaves of gold.
Tonight when I opened the tiny pages, it fell open, right on cue, as if it were still open on his lap as I walked past him to the kitchen
Tears fell on page 40 as I read
"In Time of War" and "Prayer For
Peace"
Can you imagine anything more timely in this hour?
He has shown me the pattern.
I will place the prayer book in the peace box
where it surely belongs
Marrying prayer and peace sounds like a mighty fine idea.
It was Papa's way. I aspire to his way.
He didn't make peace, find peace, or go looking for peace -
He carried it.
In his pocket, in his coat, in his mind, in his heart, in his actions, in his demeanor, in his attitude, in his love walk
Going into the room was easy for him. He simply yielded.
I watched.
No matter what beliefs you hold or where you find your rooms of solace, know that it matters greatly how much of it you carry out into the world with you.
In this dark and trying time in the world, I'd like to offer Papa's Prayer For Peace
He passed it to me. I pass it to you.
"O God, who hast made of one blood all nations of men, mercifully receive the prayer that we offer for our anxious and troubled world.
Send Thy Light into our darkness and guide the nations as one family into the ways of peace. Take away all prejudice and hatred and fear.
Strengthen in us day by day the will to understand.
And to those who by their counsels lead the people of the earth, grant at right judgment, that so, through them and us Thy will be done through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen."
on a myriad of social media platforms including Facebook, X (Twitter), Instagram and beyond! Wherever you are online, you can join our talented community for this annual worldwide event. We are represented on every continent and country in the world.
This is our 18th year of peace blogging.
Whether you choose to Blog4Peace or Post4Peace,
it's the same community and it's all good!
Bloggers and social media posters from all across the globe
will blog and post for peace
NOV 4-5, 2023
Our 2023 Theme is
"Change the Room"
The transforming power of walking in peace
Created by graphic artist Ann Adamus @ Zoolatry
Last year we wrote about FREEDOM and how that privilege is entwined with PEACE. We said No Freedom No Peace. You were amazingly insightful and bold from all corners of the Earth. We talked about how to GET FREE in the midst of unwanted invasion (personal or global).
This year we're turning inward and moving outward. Let me explain.
This is my challenge to you
Imagine what would happen if instead of trying to find peace, we walked in with it?
What if we simply carried it in?
What if we were the peace everyone else was searching for?
What if we expected the room to change when we entered?
Don't you think it would?
Why can't we be the water and the well?
When I was a little girl I watched my Papa change atmospheres all the time.
It was as effortless as changing his hat.
People acted differently when he was around. You never heard loud voices or cursing or strife when he was in the room; they respected him too much.
What he carried was palpable.
I've spent a lifetime trying to follow his example, trying to understand where that power came from, then founded an accidental peace movement from a ragged bag of his dusty marbles. Decades later they came to life in the story that became Dona Nobis Pacem for all of us in 2006. It was only then that I knew his uncanny penchant for atmosphere shifts was no accident at all.
Years later he is STILL transforming that wide-eyed little girl
STILL transforming all of us.
A bowl of marbles and one person
His quiet unconditional love
changed rooms, changed atmospheres, changed me, changes you
Still.
What you carry is palpable.
HOW you carry it alters the atmosphere you're in
You either change the atmosphere
or the atmosphere changes you
Maybe if we all learn how to change the room we could collectively change the world.
We have called attention to the absence of what we want. Instead of focusing on the absence of peace, why don't we just walk in with it like we own the planet?
Because. we. do.
Maybe I was a bit naively ambitious in 2006 when I asked you to change the world and expected a peace globe to magically appear on 70 million blogs. Today there are 1.9 BILLION websites worldwide; of those, 600 MILLION blogs. Apparently, we're still expecting to make a dent in the atmosphere because, after all, we're still here.
So walk in like you own it.
Because. you. do.
The planet is groaning for peace and stability and the world is watching how you carry yourself.
We are not the ones to fall down or offer tired platitudes. We are not the ones!!
If that's who we are, if that's ALL we are, then I'm out right now.
I'm about to make a bold statement!
THIS YEAR you will write words that transform. And nothing less.
You will draw and paint and sing and created from a place of clear knowing! This will be the most powerful year of peace posts we've ever seen.
From the moment you set your pen to paper, you will feel it. It will happen in you. How do I know?
Because you've been peace blogging for many many blog years and you just happened to walk right past me a time or two.
I caught it then and I sense it now.
So tell us. Tell us how you do it.
You will write stories of how you walked on seeming hot coals unscathed in the past year.
. When all seemed lost and you wanted to give up, you prevailed. When your body and spirit grew weary and the challenges seemed more than you could bear, you prevailed. .
Someone out there needs to hear that story.
We don't change the world or the room by ourselves.
