Update on Little Bro: He's been home for awhile. We are so grateful for all prayers/Reiki lifted for his healing when he was hospitalized. Thank you! He got OUT OF THAT BED (!) and came home, where he has been happier.
But treatments have been rough on him and the cancer has not stayed in one place.
There are constant appointments. He needs to gain weight before continuing, so getting him more stable is the focus. We are praying and believing for another wave of strength from Above that he so desperately needs.
Meanwhile, other-little-brother (his best friend) is working on tending to homegrown tomatoes and veggies in the garden they planted together. When they're not watching a Braves game or strumming guitars, they're turning over dirt waiting for miracles to sprout.
Love grows in different ways depending on what is needed in the season
Love can grow in a soil of hope and toil Seeds and baseball
Music
and deep brother love
Why am I talking about Love in the middle of cancer?
Because healing goes where love grows whether it's from tomatoes in earth or prayers laid down in cucumber dirt
Please leave your link below and in the comment section so that we may visit you.
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!
Don't you hate it when you're discussing something of importance to you that is causing some angst and the person sitting across from you says, "Oh, let it go. You've got to let that go. Just let it go." REALLY ????
POOF. GONE like Girl Gone??
Hardly
Walk a mile in my snowshoes, Buster! I don't know what the magic bullet is in these matters, but I DO know (and have recently discovered) that when I'm ready to let something go, I'mready. REALLY ready. Not one minute sooner. Not at the moment of glibness, right on time!
As I opined on Facebook's mass platform of memes....
I'm getting better at letting go. I noticed today as I threw out bag after soggy box in the basement (Did you know there was a GREAT FLOOD in Bloggingham yesterday??) that hardly any of it bothered me. Nothing I couldn't part with was damaged and it game me an excuse to deeply purge. That roll top desk I've been staring at for 40 years? I used it in the piano room of my first house. Donated.
My son's infant chest of drawers. Donated.
Twelve notebooks of meticulously created Music Theory and Sight-Reading lessons, complete with originally composed vocalize for my classroom back in the day?
That was a hard one.....ummmm...it took weeks to gather all the resources (stop it, Mimi!) You're not teaching anymore and you're so old those resources are out of print)! GONE
But it was nice to sing them again before I trashed them.
A few lamps were ruined but I realized they weren't my style anymore. Now I can buy newer ones that suit me better. Silver lining!
I threw away five Christmas trees. FIVE! Who wants a soggy tree?
Twenty-five bags later and I'm still far from finished.
I'm exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.
Rinse. Repeat. Tomorrow.
I touched a lot of memories today. Stories! Stories I'd forgotten.
You will most undoubtedly hear them.
There are some sad AND marvelous tales in that basement...
It's been a minute. The entire month of June got away from me. Complications showed up. I took a fall on the porch and spent a few painful days sleeping away the bruises. Friends said, "Rest and heal!" That's sooo hard to do. I'm a terrible patient. I keep pushing through sans common sense.
Lost my writing mojo for one red hot minute while the anti-inflammatory meds became the most important task of the day - but sorely needed (pun intended).
Finding courage in an antique store 2013 - Revisited this post and reclaimed my writing chops
Then I got off my prissy behind (literally) and started venturing out again. More thrifting. Lunches with beautiful friends to catch up. Soaking in Epsom. Burning lavender candles in the middle of the day.
Looking for furniture as I redecorate my house. More gentle house decluttering. All gingerly. Slowly. Mindfully. Thankfully. I came so close to breaking my hip. Ummm....perhaps I should sloooooowwww down instead of thinking I'm a modern version of Laura Ingalls Wilder on the Bloggingham Prairie trying to do things I shouldn't be doing. Getting tangled up in a heavy water hose was NO fun.
I couldn't sit for long periods of time, which turned out to be a good thing: it made me get outside and wander around. Sunshine and grass under my feet. Good for the soul....and the soles. Naps happened.
The Lion spoke ten years ago this spring. I remember the sound of the muse. Powerful whispers. And his roar. I'd like to catch a glimpse of him again. It took falling down to get my attention. I'm ready for a new set of words. I'm ready for inspiration from the Lion. I wonder if he remembers....
The housing market exploded into doom-for-buyers about the time they settled in. No reasonable rent to be found. No affordable housing on the horizon.
They were stuck here with me, Homer, Snickers, squirrels and trees. For the past eighteen months I've had guests in my house; changing jobs, seeking housing, and going with the flow of economic turmoil. The bonus? A delightful 3-year-old who calls me Mimi liberally planted kisses on the mirrors....and on me...every single day. It's been challenging and wonderful all at once. At times the experience forged our relationships with in-your-face fire, followed by loving transitions of the heart, only to be followed by more fire. All necessary. Part and parcel for three generations under one roof. And probably long overdue. I'm happy and proud to report they've moved on to a home of their own ... new commitments, new adventures. I still haven't washed the lipstick marks from the mirrors.
Now there are only the ghosts of Bloggingham...
and me.
While I love them and will miss them,
I'm rediscovering what it means to be truly finally retired and free.
My life has been on pause for a few years.
Lately I've been to a couple of lunch meets with old friends and colleagues, bought a new dress for Friday night tip-toeing into a nightclub (if I remember how to walk in heels), found a new Farmer's Market and stocked the freezer with healthy foods.
And the music?
UP. LOUD.
Sleeping?
IN
Clothes and shoes?
FLUNG OFF
(did I say that??)
Mostly, I appreciate and value my independence. I don't think I'll take for granted, again, any little thing in my home. Did I fully appreciate my space before? NO. Did I remember to stop and be grateful for pine cabinets, wood floors, porches and tire swings? Not always.
I'd almost forgotten what it meant to hear silence.
I have learned to be thankful for the smallest of things: the forks and spoons I now wash in the quiet of morning, the sound of a perking coffee pot, the sight of birds making new nests under inconvenient eaves and dust...even dust...because I get to do a big spring clean and spruce my home new into what I want it to be just for me again. I feel like I walked into a brand new house. I need rugs. And lamps. And art on the walls.
I'm throwing out carloads of accumulated junk from attic to basement.
VERY liberating.
I've lived alone for the past twenty-one years! Having others here for so long was an intense experience for me. I like my own company. I like my own space. I like my own routines. And let's face it, I drive people crazy!!!
(Just ask them!)
Hush Homer..
Someone said to me the other day during one of our post-pandemic marathon phone calls,
"You never apologize."
"Excuse me?" popped right out of the snarly mouth of mine. "I don't apologize??"
"You're the most unapologetic person I've ever known," he said. "You don't explain yourself. You're just who you are all the time. I admire that about you.
You don't care what anybody thinks....
I pay attention."
I appreciated the insight but me thinks I need to do some serious tweaking on this codependent thing and learn what boundaries I'm sabotaging for mySELF that causes me pain and stunts my personal growth. Inner Truth time.
Three Five Things I Will Never EVER Say to Anyone Again
Who Is Going Through a Hard Time
1. You are stronger than you know.
Please, for the love of all that is BloLy (that's blog + holy for all you non-blog speakers)
Let's not tempt the Universe and test that theory.
maybe I need to look in the mirror
2. This too shall pass.
Sometimes it takes a loooooonnnnng time to "pass." In the meantime it's perfectly logical to schedule a nervous breakdown.
3. You've been through worse times than this!
You can do it!
Bite me.
4. I'm sorry you're sick.
Are you sure it wasn't caused by stress?
Now you have insinuated that I don't have the strength to soldier through and I'm somehow to blame for my own distress. A double-whammy to my pain.
See #3
5. Tomorrow is a new day.
Thanks. Another day of this???!!
Instead.....
Have a big ugly cry. Throw some things. I tried Velcro curlers but it was so unsatisfying. Shut the bathroom door and cuss in the mirror. If you're not used to cussing you'll start tripping over consonants making up new debauchery! Feels so good. Then you'll start laughing because you can't even cuss right.
Crawl under a blanket or a rock with a bag of Cheetos. Works for me.
Anger. Let's say it. It's there because you're hurting, exhausted, and you want the pain to stop. Call up your best friend. Tell her to bring wine, a Bible, a witch doctor, a Priest, some herb roots, Reiki people, anointing oil from the Nile, snake-handling gloves, a Santana album for dancing and a box of very sinful chocolate. Yep. We're covered.
I have friends who already have bags packed for such occasions.
As for the above well-meaning offenses, I have been guilty of saying all of them.
Meanwhile, other-little-brother (his best friend) is working on tending to homegrown tomatoes and veggies in the garden they planted together. When they're not watching a Braves game or strumming guitars, they're turning over dirt waiting for miracles to sprout.
