The Kiss of Peace 1869 albumen print 36.0 x 27.8 cm. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Love and faithfulness meet together;
righteousness and peace kiss each other.
Psalm 85:10
Love.
It’s been on our minds a lot, lately. And of course we think of the kissy kind of love first.
But what else can love be?
And what else can a kiss be?
Moms kiss away booboos because of love. Some people die because of love. Others kiss because of treachery.
Love and kisses don’t always go hand in hand.
Seldom, though, do we think of anything other than people kissing. I mean, dogs actually lick. Perhaps the sun kisses a peach or a wave kisses the shore, but that’s about it.
In the verse above, righteousness and peace are treated as animate things that can kiss
We call kissing a sign of love or the glue of marriage. If we mortals grasp anything at all, maybe these ideas are right.
And maybe peace is so interconnected with righteousness that the two are one, as in marriage.
It sure is true that when we know we’ve done wrong we lack peace and when we know we’ve done the right thing we feel peace return.
Once Baby was all bathed and dressed for bed, a secret and almost sacred ritual would begin.
First he would shyly ease his way into the dim-lit nursery and stand a bit away from the rocker where Baby rested in my arms. Then he would ask if Baby had bathed and if Baby’s feet were all clean.
Once assured, he then would ask if he might kiss Baby’s feet.
It always awed me, the tenderness this one had for Baby and for Baby’s feet.
And those were the nights that I learned all the baby expert books in the world that predict jealousy in the displaced sibling meant nothing to me.
Absolutely nothing.
And I never consulted them again.
Last week I opened my email to find a death threat. Whether this was spam or the real deal is yet to be determined.
The officer asked if I owned a gun and suggested I might want to keep it handy and be aware of my surroundings. These words sent me scurrying to the closet to pull out my Smith & Wesson. I loaded the pistol with bullets my husband had stored all these years.
Realizing we were low on ammunition, I let my fingers-do-the-walking in an attempt to find replacement ammo. A number of calls later I located a store and told the clerk I’d see them first thing next morning.
I tucked the weapon into a safe hideout and crawled in bed for what I hoped would be a good night’s sleep. Before closing my eyes, I asked God to keep me safe through the night. My gun was loaded. I knew how to use it. I was prepared.
This is a wonderfully-written, true tale of fear and foibles by DiAne Gates. Read more, here!
Of course we always knew they hated us and we always knew why, but for some reason, they are feeling super-empowered lately. Heh, heh. Probably because so many, even on the inside, are taking pot-shots at the U.S., that it appears ripe for a take-over and they think they will end up on top.
Oh, yeh, they were sort of breaking the law. So was Anne Frank. So was Schindler. So was Corrie ten Boom. So were Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, et al. Anyway, the German family got all the way over here, seeking and receiving asylum, when someone APPEALED it.
Can you imagine? Any druggy who crosses over can live here illegally all he wants, but these people trying to do things right are getting an awful run around. Our government SO does not want them here, that they have bent and rearranged our laws — and it could be, and has been, argued: our Constitution — to the point they have struck a blow at home schooling, itself, just to keep them out.
And it doesn’t end there. Either they are maliciously attacking “we the people” or else they are too unknowledgeable to realize: their wording also attacks private schools. We’re all in this handbasket together, friends, and where do you think we are going?
Don’t abandon baby girls: the characters in red on the roadside sign in Danshan Township, Sichuan Party Committee and government reads “It is forbidden to discriminate against, mistreat or abandon baby girls.” Photographed September 2005. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
1. Chinese family planning officials ran over a 13-month old baby with a small bus after they feuded with a Chinese resident over fines related to the birth of the child, born outside China’s one-child policy.
The 13-month-old boy, the third child of a couple in Mayu Town, Rui’an City, was run over on Monday by a minibus owned by the Mayu government and died in hospital, a Rui’an municipal government official said. Read here.
2. Our presumed President sent a videotaped speech to NARAL, in which he claims to celebrate the death of 55,000,000 babies.
3. The NAACP has threatened to sue LifeNews.com and black pro-life leader Ryan Bomberger, a LifeNews blogger, for a recent columnthat took the civil rights organization to task over its abortion position.
There is a sweet little boy attending our church, who reminds me of Count Zinzendorf.
How?
His grandmother is raising him in a large, friendly home in the country, because his momma is having trouble in life right now. Zinzendorf was born to a recent widow, who then remarried a common soldier who didn’t really like the boy. Both she and Zinzendorf’s grandmother thought it better to prepare him for the life of a count by letting him grow up in the grandmother’s castle.
Our little boy is quite bright, as was the count.
He has an amazing interest in the things of God, memorizing prayers, for instance, and wanting to pray them aloud in church like the men do. Ditto with Zinzendorf.
But the big similarity I see is this:
He loves putting money in the offering boxes inside the entrances of our building. Being only six years old, he has no income for putting into the offering boxes. His interest in these boxes is constant. He’s been told the money is for God, for God’s work, etc. One day he caught the church treasurer taking the money out to be deposited later, in the local bank. This would be what most churches would do, but our little guy was completely appalled because he thought the dear lady was robbing God’s money.
She was quick to explain to him that she was not taking the money for herself, but only taking it out of the box to make sure it stayed safe so it can be used for God’s work.
This set the little wheels inside his head to turning. What else could he think but that this church treasurer had an “in” with God Almighty. He was totally awed, then.
And he had a plan.
Knowing a bit about writing notes and taking notes, he has confused the two. Sitting between his gramma and his auntie every Sunday, and watching them take notes in church, he’s begun imitating this practice. Whatever the preacher says, that gets through his normal-six-year-old distractedness, he writes down, asking the adults around him for help with spelling.
He is taking notes.
Then the word-confusion begins. When church is over, he folds up his paper and inserts it into the offering box, commenting confidently, “This is a note for God.” He fully expects the church secretary to make sure it is delivered.
And the comparison, here, to Zinzendorf? As a child, he used to write prayers on small pieces of paper and climb to the top of the highest turret in his grandmother’s castle, tossing them out the window, to get them to God.
The townspeople would find these small prayer offerings floating around on the ground very touching and inspiring .
I commented on a great post that was part of a blog marketing lesson at Firepole Marketing(I know, I’m not selling anything, right?) and they gave prizes to commenters.
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