Peace Blogging aka Dona Nobis Pacem in the Blogosphere ~
We've been declaring it for twenty-one years all over the world.
Somewhere along the way, we became a Tribe.
Our 2026 theme is Let It Be Known
Please sign the Mr. Linky at the end of this post and leave a comment in the comment section. You may tag me on Facebook as well. Tell us where you're from. I hope you will visit each other and share the peace vibe with your neighbnors.That's the best part of being a peace blogger.
. It's a launch!
Dona Nobis Pacem ~ A Little Grace
She smelled of mothballs and Jesus.
Her hem touched the floor. Her hands folded reverently. Every bare inch of her country-sunshine-smooth-skin was covered. I mean covered from head to toe. Like hell might burst open at any minute if she wore a hint of lipstick while some pitchforked demon took her away. Little black laced-up knee-high proper lady boots. The kind that didn't click-clack or squeak. The kind that didn't attract attention. Unpolished.The kind that made a statement, leaving no doubt that Practical belonged in her first, last, and middle name.
She was my Aunt Grace.
Makeup? Hardly. Perfume? A sin. Just camphor mixed with turpentine and Vick's Vapor Rub and....those.... mothballs that wafted from the cellar in a so-clean-you-could-eat-off-the-floor cobblestone house right up into the kitchen by the spooky basement door.
Oh, did I mention she was 4 ft nothing?
Towering over giants and loud-mouthed children who might need a swat on the behind if they got too rambunctious near the pickled beets on the neatly-lined basement shelves...or near the fireplace that was always stoked with smoldering embers.
To say she was a force to be reckoned with is an understatement.
Her house held oil lamps. Blooming everywhere. Casting shadows on that one last spiderweb she forgot to broom down. There were ancient OPEN Bibles in every room with Uncle Henry's wire-rimmed spectacles gently laid upon the wrinkled pages. He was always on a journey from room to room, through fiery brimstones and sanctified handkerchiefs used for loud Amening, after every prayer and verse.
Aunt Grace and Uncle Henry scuttled around in a black 1936 Chevrolet Sedan. It looked like a hearse with a hunchback.
I was afraid to get in it, but it matched her shoes and his hat.
Aunt Grace was too short to drive. Sitting on a Sears & Roebuck catalog only made things worse - she could see out the windshield but couldn't reach the pedals; and besides, everybody knows there were shhhhhhhhhh naked ladies in brassiere advertisements amongst those pages. For shame!
And they were forever planning for something - something was about to happen. The shelves were stocked and well water siphoned into barrels just in case something happened.
I never saw them touch.
It wasn't proper.
Their only outings were Sunday mornings to the little white church, where Uncle left his hat on the pew seat, and Auntie made sure she was still covered everywhere that legally mattered.
Both were most comfortable, however, behind a contraption pulled by Nellie the Mule, who wobbled and tilled the garden the old-fashioned way. We were most happy under the wall-to-wall grapevines that provided muscadines for wall-to-wall pear preserves in the musty cellar. Aunt Grace kindly served us red-striped peppermint sticks when it wasn't even Christmas. And lemonade.
It was not so much what was said in that house - it was the silence.
It had a presence. Children were to be seen and not heard in those days. I was almost afraid to speak, much less utter something accidentally unacceptable - which I was prone to do - so I tried to make-believe she couldn't read my sometimes salacious mind, lest I get a swat or a you're-going-straight-to-hell look over dinner.
There was no talking at dinner.
Even if I thought a cuss word, she knew it.
I loved her.
She had a fascination with the inward being. She nurtured it with fine food, homemade love, and service to others. She took in orphaned children, making a home where there was no home, while she walked with a grace that bore her name in the folds of her skirt. Ladylike. Confident. Humble. Knowing. She knew who she was and Whose she was.
Freud would have loved her. My grandfather told a story of an Angel in Light standing by his hospital bed, while he lay sick with a heart attack and not expected to live. Every time he told it, even years later, he wept. This soft-spoken messenger came to capture his soul for safe-keeping, making sure he was ready to go. There was no angel.
It was Aunt Grace.
Whether running through apple tree branches or playing beach in the white sand she kept on the driveway, we always went home with a basket of fruit and the imaginary smell of seagulls and surf.
It was a beautiful place to be. To play. To hide. To explore.
To imagine.
Until she got sick
That's when the cussing started.
It was just a cold. And she needed an antibiotic. So, Uncle Henry cranked up the old black squeaky-clean monstrosity and drove her into "town" (I use that term loosely) to see the only doctor around for at least fifty miles. He was the same country physician I saw as a child, housed in a tiny brick building with one nurse who doubled as a receptionist and walls full of Norman Rockwell prints.
It smelled of alcohol pads and hysterical babies.
He was known for his gruffness and impatience, bordering on rudeness. No nonsense. No personality. No breath mints.
Children feared him. The worst part of needing a doctor in our town was having to actually go to the doctor in our town.
But Aunt Grace was feeling a tad under the weather. She clutched her invisible pearls, covered from head to tippy-toe in a white button-up shirt, plaid black maxi-skirt and invisible jewelry.
She was elegant in her own righteous way.
As she entered his office to file her complaint, carefully sitting down across from him in the scrunchy, noisy brown leather-padded chair, he looked at her and scowled,
"What the hell is wrong with YOU?!"
Have you ever heard thermometers break?
Harp strings stop playing midair?
Saint Peter readying a room?
My mother re-told this story to me many times. When she'd get to this part I'd hold my breath, waiting for the punchline again and again and again. It never came.
Aunt Grace didn't flinch. She didn't hesitate. She didn't raise her voice - she raised her words.
"I am going to to go back out into the waiting room.
When I return you are going to greet me differently."
Diplomas rattled. Hades trembled. Charts flipped. Stethoscopes tangled all over the room. Cotton balls swabbed and syringes reloaded. The door applauded behind her as it quietly closed on a fuming, red-faced physician who'd just been brutally taken down by a 4 foot tall powerhouse of a woman who suffered no fools. Owned by a little woman with more authority in the tip of her girdle than he held with a wall full of long-handled degrees.
And it only took a Mimosa minute.
She didn't have to gather her strength. She was strength.
She gave him a little Grace, you might say.
I can imagine her stepping outside to straighten her skirt (it's a family affliction), mmbling that prayer we all learn in Sunday School and making the sign of the cross - just for good measure. But before she turned the knob and re-entered the nauseating examination room, Jesus asked,"Do you need my whip? I made one for just such occasions, you know."
With a No-Lord-I-won't-be-needing-that look, she opened the door and sat down in the brown leather chair once again.
"Good morning, Dr. Hamilton."
"Good morning, Mrs. Richardson," said the docile but scorched physician. He rose to meet her, then quietly asked, "What brings you to see me today?"
And so the healing began
No judgment. No scolding. No sermon.
She didn't ask him to change. She didn't cry and wail and play the victim. She didn't stoop to his level.
He rose to hers.
She walked in as Grace.
She walked out as Grace.
Lately, there is a lot of talk about 'owning' your truth or 'speaking' your truth." But what I like about Aunt Grace's story in our community and in our family, is that she did more than talk. And she did it in a way that demanded respect. For herself first.
Then she gave him a way to redeem himself.
Which brings me to the point of her legendary influence in my own life, as if it happened yesterday - because it did.
Someone I love cursed me out this week.
And I had to make a decision whether to stay or or go.
I thought of Aunt Grace.
She kept peace with herself first. She spoke up. Directly.
She honored herself. She respected her own standards.
And she brought resolution to what could have been a volatile confrontation with wisdom and well....Grace.
Sometimes, when we seek peace with those around us, with the world, with our loved ones, with the Earth, with political factions and loud raucous opinions - they are not ready for our words.
It might be that instead of trying to change the other guy, we start by protecting the peace we already have. The old-fashioned way.
Go to Blog4Peace for more information and examples of peace globe graphics from prior years.
We will speak with
One Voice
One Subject
One Day
About this year's theme for November 4th -
One word has been rolling around in my pencil head for a couple of months.
That word is SAY.
Don't you have something to SAY? In all my years of reading your work, I've never respected you more than I do now. I see you everywhere SPEAKING UP with kindness and intelligence - thoughtfully, respectfully, as peace bloggers do. I hear you loud and clear. There is much to talk about in the world today, much to discuss, much to share...and much to change.
It is time to SAY.
It is time to Let It Be Known
No matter the corner of the globe you call home, surely we all want a more peaceful world. Not just an end to war, but peace on our streets, in our homes, our communities, our families and neighborhoods.
Do you know that our words bring us together?
At least for one day, we are united.
I feel it every single year on November 4th.
This amazing EARTH is the home we share
and every year there is a raging war somewhere
So, on November 4th let's act like we live under the same roof, the way a family should act. Let's be the change.
Let's walk it out.
Let It Be Known not only in the words you say
but by the walk you walk.
(Image: Pixabay)
When you speak PEACE to war, you bring light to dark places.
When you speak PEACE to poverty, you bring hope to despair.
When you speak PEACE to anything, you change the atmosphere.
You illuminate. You inspire. You SAY.
Keep SAYING!
Let your beliefs, your hopes, your dreams, even your rants....be known.
This year's theme is wide open.
It is the year to
PICK YOUR PASSION
It is the year to stake your legacy. What words do you want your grandchildren to read? What mountain will you die on? What do you stand for? What issues are you passionate about? What stories do you long to tell?
This inclusive community has always embraced diversity and equality.
All cultures, backgrounds, religions, are welcome here.
We SAY. We respect.
Dona nobis pacem ~ Grant us Peace
No blog? You can write those three words in a Facebook post. Done!
We've been declaring it for twenty-one years all over the world.
Somewhere along the way, we became a Tribe.
I need my Tribe today
When peace bloggers visit each other on Blog4Peace day, we are shaking hands, we are holding space, we are saying I HEAR YOU and I SEE YOU. I RESPECT YOU.
Nobody does that better than peace bloggers.
Let's go deeper this year. Please visit each other!
Look for those little blue flying globes. You'll notice a shift in the atmosphere. Happens every year.
Somebody SAYS
Somebody SPEAKS
Somebody starts a WORD
Cover your words with compassion
Fuel them with empathy
...then bathe them in Love.
Peace bloggers plant words in tired soil
Each year we water, you see...
to reap a good harvest
Peace bloggers are part of something bigger than themselves.
In the past you've written poetic words about the peace you want to see in the world - and that is awesome! -
but you can also write essays on justice, freedom, global issues, poverty, human rights, equality, social issues, environmental activism, technology, food shortages, policy change, the economical landscape or anything else you heart needs to talk about. Issues we share as a global community are especially urgent this year.
And while you're at it, tell us how we can do better.
All roads lead to peace?
No, they don't. Some roads lead to destruction.
Write about it. Help us find the way home.
Pick your passion.
Write it like you mean it
LET IT BE KNOWN
In a world of much beauty, miracles, and abundance.... violence, war, suffering and poverty also exist.
We need each other.
This year especially feels bleak and urgent. You've spoken Dona nobis pacem from 214 countries and territories over the years!
SAY IT AGAIN
This is not the hour to grow faint.
You have to speak power to your peace
and peace to your power.
The only way to do that is to put legs
to your legacy.
and while you're at it
Walk with Thunder
Words without Walk are just words -
They ring hollow
and whoever heard of a hollow peace?
Your walk must follow words
Your walk will demonstrate love
or your walk will demonstrate hate
Because words are powerful
You want to know what else is powerful?
Silence
This is not an hour to be quiet
SAY
2008 Holding up my Voting sticker
Let's build our world with words that harness the power of peaceful intent, because, my friends, intention is everything.
Love is speaking
Can't you hear it?
Use this blank template to make your own peace globe
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!
Go to Blog4peace.com for lots of information and examples of peace globes from prior years.
November 4, 2025 bloggers and social media posters from all over the world will blog for peace. We will speak with
one voice
one subject
one day
Please email me or message me on Facebook if you have questions.
And now for a special 20th anniversary challenge!
It's called the Blog4Peace SPEAK LOVE challenge and will run from today until the eve of Blog4Peace. Since our 2025 theme is SPEAK LOVE, I've committed to doing one small (or large) thing each day to experience what it means to walk in love. I invite you to do the same! Please share on your blogs and social media if you'd like to participate during the days leading up to November 4th (not a requirement, just lovingly suggested) Are you intentionally doing the love walk with your families, yourselves, your communities, OUR WORLD? I'm going to give it my best this month.
There can be no peace without love.
I want to be intentional. I want to make a positive difference, even in the smallest of ways, to as many as I can, as often as I can.
I'll be sharing my experiences during the month of October. Come on! We need this!
Day 1 Blog4Peace SPEAK LOVE Challenge!
Join me each day now until November 4th
Here's mine ~ Day 1
Waiting at the doctor's office. I'm fine, just in for a checkup.
My goal today is to smile at 5 people with my eyes (above the mask) and see if they smile back.
See? It's easy! I can't wait to read yours!
#Blog4Peace #SpeakLove #NOV4
Free to use on your blogs and social media
Use this blank template
to make your own peace globe
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Your peace globe and post will be assigned a number and placed in the Official Gallery at blog4peace.com. By participating in Blog4Peace you agree that your peace globe designs and links may be displayed on other social sites such as Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Digg, etc and shared across the Blogosphere wherever peace bloggers are found online, in the name of world 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, Mimi Lenox, in creating published works about the Blog4Peace movement.
Every effort will be made to credit, notify and obtain permission from the artist if and when the design on your peace globe template is chosen to be featured in printed works, books, or online publications.
If you do NOT want your peace globe design shared and made accessible to others, let me know the day it is submitted or simply submit an anonymous unsigned peace globe.
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:
It is perfectly alright to SHARE via share buttons on social media sites from this blog. These beautiful creations and words should be seen and heard in the Blogosphere. However, images and links on this website may not be copied, downloaded or redistributed offline in printed works for profit or elsewhere online for profit without express permission of the blog author, Mimi Lenox. Uses other than sharing from a Share button is a violation of copyright.
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 ishere. It was a great success. Thank you. Let the peace begin.
Take a peace globe graphic from this blog and post it on your blog or social media page. Title your post "Dona nobis pacem" (grant us peace). Write about peace and/or simply fly the symbol. That's it.
Peace Bloggers inhabit six continents and 214 countries Join us
Over 39,000 Fans from 214+ countries/territories and every continent on the planet are on the Facebook page. Joining us daily and on Nov 4. Incredible!
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 elsewhere online or off without express permission of the blog author, Mimi Lenox.
Both were most comfortable, however, behind a contraption pulled by Nellie the Mule, who wobbled and tilled the garden the old-fashioned way. We were most happy under the wall-to-wall grapevines that provided muscadines for wall-to-wall pear preserves in the musty cellar. Aunt Grace kindly served us red-striped peppermint sticks when it wasn't even Christmas. And lemonade. 
