Sunday, November 9, 2014

Peace Globe #7666 ~ Gemma's Greyscale Territory

Gemma's Greyscale Territory
Gemma Wiseman 
Original Peace Blogger
Melbourne, Australia

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Peace Globe #7665 ~ Sparkle The Designer Cat

Sparkle The Designer Cat 
featuring Summer Samba
California
 
 
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Peace Blogger & Peace Globe #7664 ~ Clooney's Num-Num Fund

 
Clooney's Num-Num Fund
"George Clooney The Cat"
British Columbia, Canada
Original Peace Blogger
quoting A Course In Miracles


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Peace Blogger #7662 & 7663 ~ Mornington Peninsula Daily

 
Mornington Peninsula Daily
Gemma Wiseman
Melbourne, Australia
Original Peace Blogger
 
 
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Peace Globe #7661 ~ Gifts For All Seasons

Gifts For All Seasons
Juliana RW
Den Helder, Netherlands
Original Peace Blogger
See the inspiring video and powerful words by Juliana in her post
 
 
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Peace Globe 7660 ~ Raven's Reflections

 
 Raven's Reflections
Dana Price
Original Poetry by Dana Price
 

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Peace Globe #7659 ~ The Cat Post Intelligencer

 The Cat Post Intelligencer
Cheysuli, Ichiro and Gemini
Bonnie Koenig
The Cat Post Intelligencer Fan Page
Duvall, Washington
Original Peace Blogger
 
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Tuesday, November 4, 2014

Dona Nobis Pacem

Welcome to the 2014 BlogBlast For Peace! We hope you are finding inspiration and joy all over the blogosphere today. Please leave your link in the Mr.Linky below so that others may find your work. You can even post your Facebook links below in the comment section too. Many people are using Facebook and Twitter instead of blogs this year. Go to our Fan Page and see over 25,000 on the peace page today. You may post your link there as well. Thank you for being here. This is my story for peace day.

Come To The River ~ Words in The Hands of Love

He was hobbling along on the side of the road with a long brown cane in his left hand and a gray plastic bag in the other. Trying to stay on the shoulder and out of traffic. I rounded the curve just in time to see him wobble a bit and just in time to make a split second decision. I pulled into the abandoned parking lot and drove directly toward him as he stepped onto the asphalt left behind by the once thriving and now out-of-business restaurant.  When my car met his left foot, he stopped with a wide-eyed startled jolt. 
(Really, Mimi, said the voice of my mother...what are you doing?)

 Never mind that picking up strangers on the side of the road is on my NEVER-TO-DO list. Never mind that I am known as the resident Suzie Safety wherever I go. Never mind that. I didn't plan this ya know. I was just following the muse. And the muse said clear as day this morning, "Go to the river and write."  That's why I was in my car in the first place on the eve of Dona nobis pacem day. Are you following me? It is all the Muse's fault.  Never in all my years of peace blogging has she said go anywhere but my own backyard. But this year was different.  And here I am with a strange elderly man in an abandoned parking lot in the middle of town. What's he gonna do? Hit me with a cane? I sized him up. I can take him, I thought. He can't run. If worse comes to worse, I'll grab the cane and jump in my car.  I've got this. 
(Really Mimi, said the voice of my mother....are you insane?)

"Do you need a ride home?" I asked. He looked confused. "Is your house near here? I will take you home if you'd like."  Confusing stare. Then the arm-waving started (mine, not his) Maybe he's hard of hearing. "DO. YOU. NEED. A. RIDE.....?" 
"Espanol. Espanol."
Oh. 
"No speak English?"
"No." Thank goodness for that Italian arm-waving gene of mine. Singing "Noche de Pas" was out of the question so I threw out all the Spanish words I knew that I could string along into a sentence-  yo gracias amigo trabajar siempre amiga amigas por favor padre madre adios bueno ninito Jesus si no gracias todo duerme casa maestra escuela otro usted si no coremos (that was unlikely) canta (!) plus mucho anunciando and hola! That's about all I could think of at the moment. Does that make sense to you? No wonder it took five minutes for me to explain that I didn't want to harm him. I didn't know the word for kidnap.  I was only offering a ride.  My mind was aflutter and so were my arms. That way? Far? Left right? Why, oh why, did I fall asleep in Spanish class?

 Aha! Donde! Donde casa? Qui?
"Si! Si!"
He waved his cane in an easterly direction and I opened the car door.  Finally. Communication. I was exhausted


I looked in the backseat as he buckled up. He looked scared. 
 He was still firmly holding the cane and clutching his grocery bag straight through the first light.  I said, "I will drive des-pa-cio (like I thought he couldn't understand it?) des.pa.ci.o!" (I was so proud of myself for remembering the word for slowly.) He nodded in agreement.  I drove despacio through the second light.
I heard "No. Condominium." 
Oh, you live in the condominiums??!
 "Si!" he nodded with a smile. I turned left into the complex. 
"NO!" I heard from the backseat. "C.o.n.d.o.m.i.n.i.u.m.s" and gestured that I should turn around.  Wrong complex. I backed into the highway as he looked warily into oncoming traffic.  
"Rapido! Rapido!" I screamed. 
We laughed. Luckily, no one died. 
  Another right turn, lots more arm-waving and two dead stops in the middle of the road only to hear Yours Truly brilliantly slaughter Spanish with a nice man who probably wished by now that he'd just hit me with his cane.  I finally understood that he lived across from the condominiums in a cute little white house with a lovely wooden porch. We had driven a couple of miles by now. I pulled in and he got out.  He looked happy (and relieved) to be home. It would have taken him another hour walking with that cane.  Smiling from the backseat "Gracias! Gracias!"
"God bless you, Sir. Mucho blessings. Adios!"

And I thought that was the end of it really. Just a short little ride and he's gone. Right? 
No. (Did you know that "no" is the same in Spanish and English?)
The car door slammed and I waited for him to shuffle out of the way. Why don't I do this more often? It took 15 minutes out of my day. Why don't I? What a wonderful feeling. What is wrong with me? This is the most awesome day ever!! 

 Then I heard a knock knock on the passenger window. He was waving with his cane-free hand in a kind of salute-wave from the forehead, almost military-style and nodding vigorously.  "Muuuuchas Muuuchas gracias. Mucho mucho mucho gracias!"

 And because this was a muse-inspired moment I did what any proper pencil skirt would do; I blew an air kiss (universal languages I know). It wasn't about the muchos muchos so much as the look I saw in his beautiful dark-brown eyes. I didn't need a dictionary for that.  
That I understood. 
Come to the river said the muse...

And that is the look we all know. Deep down in the waters of our souls, we know it.  There is no barrier strong enough to unravel connections that happen in the most ordained of haphazard days. They aren't haphazard at all. 
 I want more of those days...when I am in the driver's seat. Making conscious decisions to go out of my way for the important things. Stopping for him was the most important thing I did all day. Imagine how much richer my life would be if I multiplied that fifteen minute detour even three times a day? I have to remind myself to be open and aware. To stop the car, get out, and open the door. Grace will fly right in the backseat and take up residence with a cane if you just remember to des.pa.ci.o instead of rapido. It is something my grandfather would have done. It was the way he lived his life. 
Come to the river, said the muse...
 

I drove through my town and looked around. Really looked around. Pockets of poverty everywhere. Houses about to fall down. I have never seen my town the way my eyes saw it today. 

 But I was not about to argue with the muse. I went on down to the river because the muse said go.  

 "Peace is not a final destination. Peace is the road too," whispered the muse.



But sometimes we face situations when our words matter so deeply to the people we love that they can even mean the difference between life and death. Rewind.
One night not long ago, a young man asked me a question, "I don't know what to do anymore. I feel like giving up."

We sat outside on a crisp fall night. The moon was shining and the stars twinkled above us.  Around the tenth perpetual disappointment in his life, he was ready to give in. So he looked to me on this night.  I felt woefully inadequate when he said, "Tell me. What should I do?"
 He needed an answer. I needed one too.
There's something about that water...
The longest twenty seconds ticked by as he peered into my eyes awaiting my response. On the inside of me I tried to conjure the right answer, praying for help myself, because this answer had to be right. Although I knew his decisions had to be his and his alone, this answer had to be right.
And so I said the lamest thing.
"You just have to wake up again tomorrow morning and put one foot in front of the other." (really, Mimi? That's all you've got?) You have to remember that each morning the slate is clean. You get up and try again. Even if the way is dark and you don't know where you're going. You keep doing that. Just walk."
I went home and cried for him. My heart was full of fear. I needed to know that my words mattered. 


Later that same night I got a strange text from a number I didn't recognize. It said, "I need to thank you for something you did for me many years ago that has now come full circle in my life. Can I call you?"
Before I could type 'Who is this?'...I read  "Oh! This is your brother! LOL"

The last time I really talked to my little brother was at my dad's funeral five years ago. It was not what I would call a good conversation. I dialed.
"Hi Sis! It's so good to hear your voice. I've been thinking a lot about you lately and I want to tell you some things."
And then he went into how his life had settled down, how he'd found his spiritual center, become a Christian, and was finding meaning and purpose in a small country church where he lived and wanted to tell me that his baptism would be next week.  
"I finally know what it means to have a relationship with God," he said. "I am so happy. I've never felt so peaceful before."  
  Did I mention that he bears Papa's middle name?
Papa's hymnal


 "About twenty-five years ago you gave me a Bible. Do you remember?"
"Mmmaybe....kind of....well, I suppose I did, yes."

"How could you forget? You put stickie notes all in it! You gave me a brand new Bible full of stickie notes, Sis."  
"Ohhh...." (yep. That sounds like me)

 "The preacher started talking about the book of Acts and directed us to read a certain verse. I felt a chill because I'd read it before. It was one of your stickie note verses. I just want to thank you and tell you how much I love you."
"Ohhh...." (see how lame my responses are lately, my Bloggy People?)

And then I remembered how much I needed peace myself on this night. How I needed to know things would be alright. That full-circle moments are sent by the hand of God. That what I'd just told that young man under the stars was the truth and not lame at all.

 That somehow words you forgot you wrote make their way into the hands that need them. And back to your own.

Sometimes grace stops on the side of the road in a split-second. 
Sometimes it waits twenty-five years.


Words you see...words in the hands of love. He held my words for twenty-five years. Those words came back to me in the very moment I needed them most.  Words.
So, you see...words are powerful. Our words. My words. Your words. Words. Connections are made with words. Through broken English and rolled-up car windows. Hearts are healed with words. Hearts can be broken and hurt with words. Hearts are again healed with words.
 Measure them with the yardstick of love.
If it takes baptism in your Holy of Holies, then baptize yourself in whatever water you choose. But don't expect to rise up out of the dirty water you left without a care in the world.
 Care. 

Even if you can't see the way. Just walk.
  There is always someone there to guide you.


 Know what love would say. 
Then go do what love would do.



 Si?

  come to the river said the muse....


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Peace Globe #7658 ~ Melbourne Peace City


Post by Melbourne Peace City.
Gemma Wiseman
Melbourne, Australia 

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Saturday, November 1, 2014

We Are Waiting for Your Stories, Peace Bloggers. Here's One of Mine.

You can't blog for peace in November without talking about The Doll Box. It's just not right. Every year at the beginning of November, some sort of magic happens in my world. I see the world differently. I hear the voices of those long gone. They leave stories - more stories - inside the walls of my heart. I hear YOUR stories too. The ones you long to tell, that spill onto the page during the week of peace in our blogosphere. I hear you. It is magic, I tell you.
 
In 2007 I wrote The Doll Box in honor of my grandfather, but it was really inspired by my grandmother's pansies. I hope you like it. And I know you have a heart story to tell this year. Don't you?
 
The Doll Box
 “Put them in the pot, Mimi, just that way.”

I planted the last black-eyed Susan in the clay pot on the deck, richly purple and staring at me with an eye in the center of royalty's colored fall beauty.
I dug and rearranged and poured in fertilizer. Watered. Played in the dirt.
"Plant one more in the pot, Mimi. She'd like it that way."
"They remind me of her," I said out loud. "The dark ones she loved best. The black-eyed ones I don't care for, but I plant them anyway because she loved them so. I think they look disheveled and untidy - if a flower can be that way - and as she could be in the morning times. Her hair a mess and a cigarette over coffee, frying bacon at 5am so you'd have a great start to your day, wrinkled robe and a smelly kitchen. One bright spot of colorful charm – like my black eyed susan - was you, Papa."
I stopped planting.
I looked up.
 
 My Papa stood looming over me with that jovial smile of his, a burst of sunlight behind his balding head and a brightly gleaming twinkle in the midst of the smile I adored. I was still unbalanced with a trowel in one hand and a pile of dirt in the other which prevented me from jumping immediately into his arms, but it didn't seem to matter; a warm wind blew straight through the curl hanging down the front of my right shoulder and moved it behind me to rest on the back of my sweater. I was sure of it. My Papa was always telling me to get my hair out of my face. No surprise to me now.

“I've been watching you, Mimi."
I laughed.
 
 "Well you know she had to have things just right. Two purple here, one pink there, large petaled, small-petaled and a very straight row or you had to start all over."
He laughed.
"I remember."

I fixed my eyes upon the face of the man who held the key to my heart ever since the day I took my first breath. I put the trowel down, the dirt fell from my fingers and I found myself sitting in the fall sunlight, listening to leaves drop playfully from the trees that surrounded me. I watched them fall almost on command at his huge overgrown feet that were firmly planted in front of me. Steel-toed shoes, huge shoes, painful shoes, important shoes.

It would take him forty-five minutes in the mornings before work to lace them up. Rheumatoid arthritis claimed his quality of life, pain a constant companion, everyday tasks a monumental chore - and yet he rarely missed work (thirty-three years in a furniture plant) and most days he tilled the garden out back in the evenings. For today, I was content to sit at his feet and plant flowers. He was there to give me a warm breezy hug.
Of course, I knew he wasn't really there.

Was he?

Resigned to never again help him unlace the knotted shoestrings that strangled too tightly across his tender feet, I turned away to wipe a tear.
I miss him still.
"I've been watching you - you and the peace globes" he said.

I smiled and stood up. He was right.
Pansies could wait. 
 
 I know, Papa. I've known for some time. You always give me courage when I need it, inspiration when I've lost it, and the biggest laughs....I get the most joy from your far-flung sense of humor. It is with me still." He roared a belly laugh I thought I'd never hear again this side of Heaven. It nearly rocked me off balance, causing me to drop the flat of pansies on the deck, so deep it was, so rich. So Papa.

"I need to ask you! Papa! I have so much to ask you. I don't know what to do about.....
Will you stay?"

"Mimi," he said with that tsk tsk expression, "I need to ask you a question."

I sat back down, wondering somehow if I'd done something wrong. Had I gotten it all wrong? Does he want to talk about the marbles? Yes, that must be it. The marbles. He wants to tell me how he made them. He'll tell me and I'll tell my readers and they'll tell people and he'll explain it all.

I waited.
His eyes to me looked young, as young as he must have been the day he married my pansy-stricken grandmother. They were in the prime of their lives and so in love, both prepared to begin a new life. And now, they were both gone. I had her pansy pots and her azalea bush and her quirkiness. He had memories not to be shared with a granddaughter but memories I saw playing behind the youthful grin. I did not let on. But I knew there were stories he must - he surely must - somewhere - somehow - still share with her.
"Ask, Papa. I'll tell you anything you want to know,” digging a new opening in the dirt for one more yellow pansy
.

"Why? Why Mimi?..........why do you need so many?"

"Because she said if you planted enough of them really close together it would make the bouquet brighter and....."
 
 I know, Papa. I've known for some time. You always give me courage when I need it, inspiration when I've lost it, and the biggest laughs....I get the most joy from your far-flung sense of humor. It is with me still." He roared a belly laugh I thought I'd never hear again this side of Heaven. It nearly rocked me off balance, causing me to drop the flat of pansies on the deck, so deep it was, so rich. So Papa.

"I need to ask you! Papa! I have so much to ask you. I don't know what to do about.....
Will you stay?"

"Mimi," he said with that tsk tsk expression, "I need to ask you a question."

I sat back down, wondering somehow if I'd done something wrong. Had I gotten it all wrong? Does he want to talk about the marbles? Yes, that must be it. The marbles. He wants to tell me how he made them. He'll tell me and I'll tell my readers and they'll tell people and he'll explain it all.

I waited.
His eyes to me looked young, as young as he must have been the day he married my pansy-stricken grandmother. They were in the prime of their lives and so in love, both prepared to begin a new life. And now, they were both gone. I had her pansy pots and her azalea bush and her quirkiness. He had memories not to be shared with a granddaughter but memories I saw playing behind the youthful grin. I did not let on. But I knew there were stories he must - he surely must - somewhere - somehow - still share with her.
"Ask, Papa. I'll tell you anything you want to know,” digging a new opening in the dirt for one more yellow pansy
.
"Why? Why Mimi?..........why do you need so many?"

"Because she said if you planted enough of them really close together it would make the bouquet brighter and....."
 
 "No, Mimi. Why do you need so many peace globes?"

I stopped digging, puzzled.

"I don't need them, Papa, they just keep coming. Through my mail and in the back way. In the middle of the night. In the morning. In the evenings. All colors, all creeds, all walks of life. All species, all reasons, some frivolously made, some seriously woven and others with a single signature. Those I like, too."
He sighed.

 
Had I disappointed him? Was that the wrong answer? What does he want me to say?

If there's one thing about my Papa that was always the best thing - it was his deliberate ability to cut through my facade and get to the truth -usually without a word, never with a scold, and any "serious conversation" he made with me always came on the palpable presence of one who loved me so unconditionally I could never have doubted his intent for my good or his wish for my clear understanding. Laden with well-worn common sense wisdom, I soaked it up often, playing carefully at his painfully laced shoes which criss-crossed in front on me in the living room floor at the bottom of the old leather recliner he loved.
And today, I felt much like that seven-year-old.

Papa had one more story to tell.

"Do you remember the dolls, Mimi? The 100 Dolls?"

"Oh yes, Papa. I still have them. I keep them in the box for safekeeping. They are in perfect condition though the box is yellowed now and torn on the edge. I still see your address, your name, the paid postage stamp and the tape."

He suddenly got a serious look. "I remember the day you asked me for them. We were thumbing through a catalog and you squealed with delight. "One hundred dolls!! How could 100 dolls come in one box?" you asked.

“I remember,” I said. "They costs one dollar and we had to send away for them all the way to New Jersey and add our postage fee. I was so excited and couldn't wait to get them in the mail. I think I was seven? Yes, just about that age."

"Open them, Mimi. They hold a secret. Open the box."

I'm writing this story at my usual perch at the table but of course, in my mind's eye I am there, on the porch with my Papa and we are planting pansies and the sun is hot and the leaves are falling and I don't want to leave. We are having such a lovely day. All is right and he has chosen to visit me now. I don't want to break the spell. I don't want to open the box.....but it is there. It is there in front of me, on the table.
I picked it up, put my reading glasses on, trying to make out the fine print. I reach for a magnifying glass to help but for some reason, I put it down. I couldn't. I couldn't look. I just couldn't.

And when have you ever been able to disobey him? Never. And when have you ever disappointed him? Sometimes. And will you do that today? No.
I picked it up again.

Bulk Rate. US Postage Paid. Newark, N.J. Permit No.4396.
100 Dolls Dept R
285 Market Street
Newark, N.J 
 What's so special about this old box of dolls? They're plastic and probably a few are missing. Pink. Flimsy. Tiny little things. Not at all like I.....

"Right," said Papa, " you were disappointed. You were disappointed when they arrived a few weeks later. I could see it in your face. I never forgot how cute it was when you said, "NOW I know how they got so many dolls in one box. They don't look like the picture in the magazine at all. They are very small and I think I might even break them." "So you sat at the kitchen table night after night and lined them up. Trying to figure out which was a cook and which was a nurse and which was a girl and which was a boy. I told you that they all have a face and they all have a voice, even if they are on the small side. You made up stories to go with them and then, once you'd brought them to life, there was a sadness about the way you stored them away. Back in the box. Back in the box. Always back in the box."
He shook his head.

This was not going to be easy. What does he want me to see? There won't be an obvious blue world globe-like marble sitting there this time, we're talking about prissy dolls for a prissy girl who turned into a prissy woman who has no idea why she's crying at her keyboard in the middle of this unfinished story.
Until......

I decided to open the box.
 And there it was. Something I'd forgotten about. On top of my dolls in the lower right corner was a matchbox size toy. He'd sent away for that too. It came with my dolls. "Tricky Dogs" They were magnets. One white dog. One black dog. When you start to play with them, they always gravitate toward each other. After forty years the magnet is still strong. I turned them over in my hands I read the back of the box.

Directions: Place one Tricky Dog on a surface (polished wood or glass) Push the other Tricky Dog up to it from behind, or sweep the second Tricky Dog in a half circle around the first one. Watch them twirl!
 My tabletop is made of glass. I took the black one and put him up front, made a sneak attack by the white one and voila! the black dog began to spin in a circle - in an energetic frenzy - and aligned itself with the other one smashing into him, wagging their magnetic tails and gravitating together: smooching, the way only magnets can. Most of the time I played with the dolls, but Papa......he would rather I lay aside the Barbie doll brain and chase my dream around the glass top. He was like that. Always dropping life lessons in my lap, at inopportune times like today, when I'd rather be planting pansies.
I laughed. I'd forgotten the hours of entertainment we'd had trying to make the dogs do something else. I tried to separate them so many times - so like me to want to even argue with electrons and atoms - but they always ended up smacking into each other no matter what I did and the twirling little dance always ended with a dog collision. Inevitable. Worked every time. Without fail.
The globes, Papa. They all spin their own way and yet they eventually make their way towards one another spinning together and with one purpose. Is that right?


Now my grownup mind understands such things. I know there really is no "trick" - I know they're just heavily plastered metal toys with magnet skates on the bottom - but I'm not a grownup today. I'm a seven year old on the floor with my Papa and we are playing from the box he mail ordered for me in the 1960's. And I am laughing. The dogs still make me laugh.

I sighed. This observation is just too obvious. Magnets. Globes. Spinning earth balls. Earth Science. I get it. I get it. I turned to him and said, “I know all about this little analogy. I went to college and got a degree since you've been gone ya know. And anyway, I need to finish planting these pansies and get them all in a straight line the way she would....the way she would.....Papa?”

Papa? 
 
 He was gone.

And I was left with a tabletop full of little pink dolls piled on top of each other, delighted to be free of the box, criss-crossing on top of one another and laid crosswise in the jumbled life of another doll, too many for a seven year old to count, too tiny for a middle aged woman to see in great detail and yet.....somehow I knew they'd been waiting for just this hour to make their second debut into my life. Pink. Plastic. Fragile. Soft spoken. And yet....when I put them all together they make an enormous pile. 
 
 Like my globes.

“Why? Mimi why? Why do you need so many?”

I never answered his question. That must be why he left. I suppose he is angry with me. I'll have to tell him another time about the blogger from Hong Kong and the man from Singapore and Idaho met Japan and tomorrow Italy promised to email Turkey....Israel and Poland and Tennessee and Michigan is helping Ireland make a globe and it doesn't matter how small their blogs may be, they all have a face and all have a voice and they just want to speak their ....oh never mind.
Hmmm.....It's been forty years and I still haven't played with all those dolls. No time like the present.
 
 
So, I took them out of the box. One by one. A nurse, a dancer, an Indian man, two clowns, Spanish people, a ballerina, a little girl, a man speaking, a roping cowboy, a smiling cowgirl, a Buddhist monk, a Chinese man, a Mexican hat dancer, a Gypsy girl playing a tambourine, Bolero dancers, Little Bo Peep, all nationalities, all creeds, all expressions, all costumes of origin and a world of imagination at my fingertips that now played alone without the fumbling arthritic hand of the man who gave them to me so long ago.......a Peruvian girl, a small child playing ball, a colonial doll with a full skirt taking a bow (My favorite. She bowed a lot in those pre-pencil skirt days). I remembered how his hands were so large and gnarled, fumbling with the small creatures as they fell in his lap. I would laugh and we would start the dance again. The Buddha man would twirl with the Peruvian woman while the little boy with the ball - perhaps it was a jack-in-the-box - sat quietly in the middle of it all. They all got along in my peaceful box universe. The dolls in my box lived in one world, dancing and spinning around. "I'll get that for you, Papa,” I said, “ the lady from Spain would like to dance with the Russian ballerina now if you don't mind........Papa!?”

I looked up from the land of pink twirling peace and saw a tear roll down his cheek and land on his steel-toed shoe.
I could tell he longed for our pink doll world of friendly global dancers and I so wanted to never see him sad again. “My life went sailing by," he said, "like a thin silk pansy leaf falling on the wisp of a breeze. I blinked and it was gone. Not much older than you are today. So much left to do. So much left to say. Many more flowers to plant. Many more stars to catch. More dances to dance. My work was not done...... But you knew that, didn't you, Mimi?

I did?
 “All I know, Papa, is that I wasn't there that day. I canceled our outing and you left without me. You and grandmother went to the doctor and after that day, I never saw you again. Not ever again. I was angry because you did not say goodbye. I was angry that I did not say goodbye. And I longed to tell you all my tales and all my stories. I've waited for you to tell me what to do.

I put down the dolls and looked at his wisdom worn face, anxious for the answers that I needed
. But he had a way of making me figure it out for myself. This day was no different.

 “You do not need me to tell you what to do. I am proud of you and you are doing just fine. Just remember one thing: It takes all the dolls in the box to make the world a beautiful place, Mimi. . They can't hear what the other one has to say unless you introduce them to one another and set their feet to dancing. Take them out of the box.” 
 Just take them out of the box.

That's it? That's the secret? Take them out of the box? But what about the globes? And the marbles? I jumped up to give him a hug the way I always did but he was gone.


In the bottom of the box I found a piece of yellow paper. It had my name on it, folded, in my grandmother's handwriting. I opened it. It was a speech I'd made in church for a Christmas program when I was 3 years old. He'd tucked it away in the bottom of my doll box. I smiled as I remembered that the best part of that day had been running down the church aisle and jumping into his white-sleeved arms for a hug and a kiss. If I ever doubted what my grandfather gave to me, and continues to instill in me even now, it is the simple power of love and a respect for all creatures large and small - pink and Peruvian.

And that, my friends, is all we need.
*********

 
Please join us! Blog4Peace November 4 and everyday on our Facebook page
Our Peace Store

How To Blog4Peace
1. Make a peace globe. Choose any graphic on this page. Save. Sign. Decorate
2. Send the finished peace globe to blog4peace@yahoo.com or TAG Mimi Lenox on Facebook
3. Post it anywhere online November 4
4. Title
your post or status Dona Nobis Pace
m (Latin for Grant us Peace) hashtag #blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Monday, October 27, 2014

Nauru and Gibraltar are blogging peace. Welcome!

Mimi Lenox's photo.We welcome two new countries today: The island country of Nauru in the South Pacific (Republic of Naura) and the British Overseas Territory of Gibraltar near the Mediterranean Sea. They have joined the peace blogging Fan page. Yay!! I hope they fly a globe on Nov 4! The map is filling up. This makes 208 countries/territories.
Mimi Lenox's photo.



Please join us! Blog4Peace November 4 and everyday on our Facebook page
Our Peace Store

How To Blog4Peace
1. Make a peace globe. Choose any graphic on this page. Save. Sign. Decorate
2. Send the finished peace globe to blog4peace@yahoo.com or TAG Mimi Lenox on Facebook
3. Post it anywhere online November 4
4. Title
your post or status Dona Nobis Pace
m (Latin for Grant us Peace) hashtag #blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Sunday, October 26, 2014

10 Days Until BlogBlast For Peace ~ Nov 4th!

Peace time is upon us. 
It is a time when we turn our thoughts to the possibility of ending the madness of war, the suffering of people and the crippling of nations and populations. While it is a time to reflect on the world at large and the challenges that face us, it is also a time to look inward, finding those crevices that allow harm and damage our souls, permeating our minds with negativity and weakness. We weren't made for such thoughts. Man was created for richer things, purer things and powerful possibilities. Can we bring tangible peace to a world in turmoil with our thoughts and intentions? With our words?
Perhaps not in a day.
 
But in the culmination of such days and on a continuum of positive change and forward movement, in the process of  powerful and honest conversations across the tables of war that haunt our planet, we can bring about the hope of such a day.  
 
 The desire for freedom and to live at peace with our brothers on this globe we call Earth, must become a spoken word - because in the realm of unspoken intent, peace dies.  It cannot abide in the hearts of men forever locked away with keys of fear and pride. It must be talked about courageously and spoken of with reverence. Freedom. Peace. Prosperity. Purity. Hope. Goodness. Kindness. Love. Men who possess these traits are the most courageous men of all. 
 
 We see it in abundance in our world, but we place a greater premium on the pursuit of power. This must stop. Not just on the grand stages of war, but behind the doors of our homes. You know that place. It is the place where parents love children, where the young minister to the old, the temporarily weak rely on the generosity of the strong and where sacrifices become tethered and unbreakable bonds of unconditional love.
 Because that's what love does.
And that is who we are.
 
In a world where people serve one another without expectation of reward or self-promotion, we can live in peace. In a world where the touch of a stranger's hand in the middle of a storm becomes a well of gratitude in someone's soul, we can live in peace.  It is the reassuring warmth of other humans in times of great difficulty that cause men to experience a glimmer of grace. When men no longer feel like strangers in a divided world, but one whole of humanity, we can live in peace.
 
Nov 4th is a day to illuminate the part of you that reaches out to other people when you feel there is no reaching left. Even when people don't reach back - still reach. It only takes one touch to heal your world. And it only takes a world of people willing to touch to heal the whole world.
Are you ready?
I am.
 
Blog that peace, People. Say it from a heart of courageous and worthy intention. Work it in your families. Walk it behind closed doors. Then take it out the front door to the world and be a light that knows no darkness.
Our theme is "Words in the hands of love."
You've got this.


 Get your templates HERE
Please join us! Blog4Peace November 4 and everyday on our Facebook page
Our Peace Store

How To Blog4Peace
1. Make a peace globe. Choose any graphic on this page. Save. Sign. Decorate
2. Send the finished peace globe to blog4peace@yahoo.com or TAG Mimi Lenox on Facebook
3. Post it anywhere online November 4
4. Title
your post or status Dona Nobis Pace
m (Latin for Grant us Peace) hashtag #blog4peace #blogblast4peace

Friday, October 24, 2014

Funky Peace Globe Templates for BlogBlast4Peace

Created by Michelle Frost
Blog4Peace is held each Nov 4th. Here are a few peace globe templates made just for you in Funky red and pink colors. If you're into psychedelic peace, pick one out and make it your own peace globe. Have fun! 
Created by Michelle Frost

Dona nobis pacem ~ Grant us peace

An earth tone collection of pre-made templates, graphics and logos for your use as a peace blogger. Add them to your blogs, sidebars, Facebook and Twitter pages. Add your own words and pictures to these templates and blog that peace!
How To Get Your Peace Globe
One subject ~ One voice ~ One day
Created by Michelle Frost
Nov4







How To Get Your Peace Globe
Graphics & Design copyright: Mimi Len

What You Should Know

Your peace globe and post will be assigned a number and placed in the Official Gallery at blogblastforpeace.com. By participating in BlogBlast4Peace you agree that your peace globe and links may be displayed on other social sites such as Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Digg, wherever peace bloggers are online, and shared across the blogosphere in the name of peace and in the spirit of promoting this work. They may also be used in printed works and publications online and elsewhere by the founder of this movement in creating published works about the Blog4Peace movement. If you do not want your peace globe shared and made accessible to others, let me know. Otherwise, please understand that this movement is all about spreading the message.
Thank you for being part of this incredible community of peace bloggers.

About Sharing and Linking: If there is a share button visible on this site then by all means share the peace! Otherwise, images and links on this website may not be copied, downloaded or redistributed offline in printed works or elsewhere online without express permission of the blog author, Mimi Lenox.


© 2006 Mimi Lenox
All rights reserved

Special Launch Event Thursday, July 12, 2012

We launched the 2012 BlogBlast4Peace season with a trip to the shore (real and virtual). I am already on the Atlantic. If you were here with us July 12 at sunset, even in spirit, then you were a part of the 2012 launch for BlogBlast4Peace. I can think of no better way to announce our November 4th campaign than a designated time for all to bring the same thoughts and vibes to the table....er...ocean. Then it won't be just me making an announcement. It will be all of us. I like it!
Facebook Event page is here. It was a great success. Thank you. Let the peace begin.

Blog Talk Radio Interviews with Mimi

The Doctor Anonymous Show ~November 6, 2008
November 4, 2008
Election Night on The Doctor Blogstein Radio Happy Hour
The Mo Show
November 7, 2007
The Doctor Anonymous Show ~ October 25, 2007
BlogTalkRadio.com
Click to hear the interview below

2011 Official BlogBlast4Peace Video

Professional photographer and poet, Dawn Drover, created this year's video.

Peace Poems & Stories

Inspiring Quotes

Inspirational Peace Quotes from Famous People~ Click to expand links
[]
  • Anndi's Luggage ~
    Mother Teresa
  • Anndi's Luggage ~
    Mother Teresa
  • Answers To The Questions
  • Are We There Yet?
  • Are We There Yet?
    Dwight D. Eisenhower
  • Cherry, Plum, Dansom Blossoms
  • Comedy Plus
  • Comedy Plus
  • Daisy The Curly Cat
  • It's Sanni-licious ~ 06/07
  • It's Sanni-licious ~ 11/06
  • It's Sanni-licious ~ All We Are Saying
  • It's Sanni-licious ~12/06
  • Kids, Cats, & Books: What Else Is There?
  • Lily's Pad ~ King James Bible
  • Me, My Life, My Garden
  • Mississippizen
  • Missy & KC
  • Mother's Home
  • Odat's Mumblings
  • On A Limb With Claudia ~ Tao
    On The Far Side Of The Sea Luke 2:10-12
  • Parlancheq ~ Jimi Hendrix
  • Pregnant Pauses
  • Quotes In Can
  • Rock and Star
  • Short Stories in the making
  • Studio Susie Says...
  • TeaTime Ramblings
  • This Eclectic Life
  • Trav's Thoughts Yuki and Simiko

    Artistic

    Click to show list []

    Musical

    Musical Peace Posts
    []

    Animals

    Animals With Peace Globes

    Prayers For Peace

      John Lennon Peace Posts

      Click to expand links
      []

      Animated Globes!

      Peace Globe

      Click to expand links
      []

      Peace Videos

      Click to show list []

      Babies For Peace

      Doctors For Peace

      Military and In Memoriam

      manic monday

      My Blogs

      Peace Thimbles

      Peace Thimbles
      Michelle's Peace Project 2011