Quote of the day
"Stop looking for happiness in the same place you lost it."
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>
Articles by "Geezgo's Word"
spare the rod and spoil the child
Discipline is necessary for good upbringing, as in She lets Richard get away with anything—spare the rod, you know . This adage appears in the Bible (Proverbs 13:24) and made its way into practically every proverb collection. It originally referred to corporal punishment. It is still quoted, often in shortened form, and today does not necessarily mean physical discipline.
https://www.geezgo.com/sps/51654
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>
Blood is thicker than water
What's the meaning of the phrase 'Blood is thicker than water'?
By saying 'blood is thicker than water' we mean that family bonds are closer than those of outsiders.
Note: The notion that this expression originally conveyed the idea that soldiers, who shed blood together, are closer than others who don't is speculative and I can't find any evidence to support it.
What's the origin of the phrase 'Blood is thicker than water'?
Blood is thicker than waterThe first example of the proverb 'blood is thicker than water' that I can find in print in English is in Allan Ramsay's Collected Scots Proverbs, 1737:
Blude's thicker than water.
There are claims made that an earlier form of this phrase existing in Middle German in the 12th century and appear in Heinrich der Glîchezære's epic Reinhart Fuchs, circa 1180. The English version of that text is translated as "I also hear it said, kin-blood is not spoiled by water". I don't have access to the text in question so I can't check that.
The text doesn't appear to be the same as the English 'blood is thicker than water' so, even if 'kin-blood is not spoiled by water' did exist in German in 1180, it isn't clear they are the same proverb. It is possible that the Germans coined the proverb in the 12th century and it lay dormant for 600 years before re-emerging in Scotland but that seems less than likely.
Left quote icon
Of course, blood really is thicker than water.
right quote iconWhat we can say for certain is that the proverb existed in English by 1737 and that Sir Walter Scott made it available to a wider public when he included it in his hugely popular novel Guy Mannering; or the astrologer, 1815:
"Weel, blude's thicker than water; she's welcome to the cheeses and the hams just the same."
Scott harvested evocative phrases and imagery from many sources and repackaged them for his large and devoted audience.
And, just so you know, water has a viscosity of about 0.009 poise; plasma has a viscosity of about 0.015 poise so, blood is thicker than water.
By saying 'blood is thicker than water' we mean that family bonds are closer than those of outsiders.
Note: The notion that this expression originally conveyed the idea that soldiers, who shed blood together, are closer than others who don't is speculative and I can't find any evidence to support it.
What's the origin of the phrase 'Blood is thicker than water'?
Blood is thicker than waterThe first example of the proverb 'blood is thicker than water' that I can find in print in English is in Allan Ramsay's Collected Scots Proverbs, 1737:
Blude's thicker than water.
There are claims made that an earlier form of this phrase existing in Middle German in the 12th century and appear in Heinrich der Glîchezære's epic Reinhart Fuchs, circa 1180. The English version of that text is translated as "I also hear it said, kin-blood is not spoiled by water". I don't have access to the text in question so I can't check that.
The text doesn't appear to be the same as the English 'blood is thicker than water' so, even if 'kin-blood is not spoiled by water' did exist in German in 1180, it isn't clear they are the same proverb. It is possible that the Germans coined the proverb in the 12th century and it lay dormant for 600 years before re-emerging in Scotland but that seems less than likely.
Left quote icon
Of course, blood really is thicker than water.
right quote iconWhat we can say for certain is that the proverb existed in English by 1737 and that Sir Walter Scott made it available to a wider public when he included it in his hugely popular novel Guy Mannering; or the astrologer, 1815:
"Weel, blude's thicker than water; she's welcome to the cheeses and the hams just the same."
Scott harvested evocative phrases and imagery from many sources and repackaged them for his large and devoted audience.
And, just so you know, water has a viscosity of about 0.009 poise; plasma has a viscosity of about 0.015 poise so, blood is thicker than water.
https://www.geezgo.com/sps/50612
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>
The Gift of Forgiveness – Christmas Story
The Christmas of 1949 we didn’t have a
tree. My dad had as much pride as anybody, I suppose, so he wouldn’t
just say that we couldn’t afford one.
When I mentioned it, my mother said that we weren’t going to have one this year, that we couldn’t afford one, and even if we could – it was stupid to clutter up your house with a dead tree.
I wanted a tree badly though, and I thought – in my naive way – that if we had one, everybody would feel better.
About three days before Christmas, I was out collecting for my paper route. It was fairly late – long after dark – it was snowing and very cold.
I went to the apartment building to try to catch a customer who hadn’t paid me for nearly two months – she owed me seven dollars.
Much to my surprise, she was home. She invited me in and not only did she pay me, she gave me a dollar tip! It was a windfall for me – I now had eight whole dollars.
What happened next was totally unplanned. On the way home, I walked past a Christmas tree lot and the idea hit me.
The selection wasn’t very good because it was so close to the holiday, but there was this one real nice tree. It had been a very expensive tree and no one had bought it; now it was so close to Christmas that the man was afraid no one would.
He wanted ten dollars for it, but when I – in my gullible innocence – told him I only had eight, he said he might sell it for that.
I really didn’t want to spend the whole eight dollars on the tree, but it was so pretty that I finally agreed.
I dragged it all the way home – about a mile, I think – and I tried hard not to damage it or break off any limbs.
The snow helped to cushion it, and it was still in pretty good shape when I got home.
You can’t imagine how proud and excited I was. I propped it up against the railing on our front porch and went in.
My heart was bursting as I announced that I had a surprise.
I got Mom and Dad to come to the front door and then I switched on the porch light.
“Where did you get that tree?” my mother exclaimed.
But it wasn’t the kind of exclamation that indicates pleasure.
“I bought it up on Main Street. Isn’t it just the most perfect tree you ever saw?” I said, trying to maintain my enthusiasm.
“Where did you get the money?” Her tone was accusing and it began to dawn on me that this wasn’t going to turn out as I had planned.
“From my paper route.” I explained about the customer who had paid me.
“And you spent the whole eight dollars on this tree?” she exclaimed.
She went into a tirade about how stupid it was to spend my money on a dumb tree that would be thrown out and burned in a few days.
She told me how irresponsible I was and how I was just like my dad with all those foolish, romantic, noble notions about fairy tales and happy endings and that it was about time I grew up and learned some sense about the realities of life and how to take care of money and spend it on things that were needed and not on silly things.
She said that I was going to end up in the poorhouse because I believe in stupid things like Christmas trees, things that didn’t amount to anything.
I just stood there. My mother had never talked to me like that before and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I felt awful and I began to cry. Finally, she reached out and snapped off the porch light.
“Leave it there,” she said. “Leave that tree there till it rots, so every time we see it, we’ll all be reminded of how stupid the men in this family are.”
Then she stormed up the stairs to her bedroom and we didn’t see her until the next day.
Dad and I brought the tree in and we made a stand for it.
He got out the box of ornaments and we decorated it as best as we could; but men aren’t too good at things like that, and besides, it wasn’t the same without mom.
There were a few presents under it by Christmas day – although I can’t remember a single one of them – but Mom wouldn’t have anything to do with it.
It was the worst Christmas I ever had.
Fast forward to today, Judi and I married in August of 1963, and dad died on October 10 of that year. Over the next eight years, we lived in many places. Mom sort of divided up the year – either living with my sister Jary or with us.
In 1971 we were living in Wichita, Kansas – Lincoln was about seven, Brendan was three and Kristen was a baby. Mom was staying with us during the holidays. On Christmas Eve I stayed up very late. I was totally alone with my thoughts, alternating between joy and melancholy, and I got to thinking about my paper route, that tree, what my mother had said to me and how Dad had tried to make things better.
I heard a noise in the kitchen and discovered that it was mom. She couldn’t sleep either and had gotten up to make herself a cup of hot tea – which was her remedy for just about everything. As she waited for the water to boil, she walked into the living room and discovered me there. She saw my open Bible and asked me what I was reading. When I told her, she asked if I would read it to her and I did.
When the kettle began to whistle, she went and made her tea. She came back, and we started to visit. I told her how happy I was that she was with us for Christmas and how I wished that Dad could have lived to see his grandchildren and to enjoy this time because he always loved Christmas so. It got very quiet for a moment and then she said, “Do you remember that time on Twelve Mile Road when you bought that tree with your paper route money?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve just been thinking about it you know.”
She hesitated for a long moment, as though she were on the verge of something that was bottled up so deeply inside her soul that it might take surgery to get it out. Finally, great tears started down her face and she cried, “Oh, son, please forgive me.”
“That time and that Christmas have been a burden on my heart for twenty-five years. I wish your dad were here so I could tell him how sorry I am for what I said. Your dad was a good man and it hurts me to know that he went to his grave without ever hearing me say that I was sorry for that night. Nothing will ever make what I said right, but you need to know that your dad never did have any money sense (which was all too true).
We were fighting all the time – though not in front of you – we were two months behind in our house payments, we had no money for groceries, your dad was talking about going back to Arkansas and that tree was the last straw. I took it all out on you. It doesn’t make what I did right, but I hoped that someday, when you were older, you would understand. I’ve wanted to say something for ever so long and I’m so glad it’s finally out.”
Well, we both cried a little and held each other and I forgave her – it wasn’t hard, you know.
Then we talked for a long time, and I did understand; I saw what I had never seen and the bitterness and sadness that had gathered up in me for all those years gradually washed away.
It was marvelously simple.
The great gifts of this season – or any season – can’t be put under the tree; you can’t wear them or eat them or drive them or play with them. We spend so much time on the lesser gifts – toys, sweaters, jewelry, the mint, anise and dill of Christmas – and so little on the great gifts – understanding, grace, peace and forgiveness. It’s no wonder that the holiday leaves us empty, because when it’s over, the only reminders we have are the dirty dishes and the January bills.
https://www.geezgo.com/sps/47902
When I mentioned it, my mother said that we weren’t going to have one this year, that we couldn’t afford one, and even if we could – it was stupid to clutter up your house with a dead tree.
I wanted a tree badly though, and I thought – in my naive way – that if we had one, everybody would feel better.
About three days before Christmas, I was out collecting for my paper route. It was fairly late – long after dark – it was snowing and very cold.
I went to the apartment building to try to catch a customer who hadn’t paid me for nearly two months – she owed me seven dollars.
Much to my surprise, she was home. She invited me in and not only did she pay me, she gave me a dollar tip! It was a windfall for me – I now had eight whole dollars.
What happened next was totally unplanned. On the way home, I walked past a Christmas tree lot and the idea hit me.
The selection wasn’t very good because it was so close to the holiday, but there was this one real nice tree. It had been a very expensive tree and no one had bought it; now it was so close to Christmas that the man was afraid no one would.
He wanted ten dollars for it, but when I – in my gullible innocence – told him I only had eight, he said he might sell it for that.
I really didn’t want to spend the whole eight dollars on the tree, but it was so pretty that I finally agreed.
I dragged it all the way home – about a mile, I think – and I tried hard not to damage it or break off any limbs.
The snow helped to cushion it, and it was still in pretty good shape when I got home.
You can’t imagine how proud and excited I was. I propped it up against the railing on our front porch and went in.
My heart was bursting as I announced that I had a surprise.
I got Mom and Dad to come to the front door and then I switched on the porch light.
“Where did you get that tree?” my mother exclaimed.
But it wasn’t the kind of exclamation that indicates pleasure.
“I bought it up on Main Street. Isn’t it just the most perfect tree you ever saw?” I said, trying to maintain my enthusiasm.
“Where did you get the money?” Her tone was accusing and it began to dawn on me that this wasn’t going to turn out as I had planned.
“From my paper route.” I explained about the customer who had paid me.
“And you spent the whole eight dollars on this tree?” she exclaimed.
She went into a tirade about how stupid it was to spend my money on a dumb tree that would be thrown out and burned in a few days.
She told me how irresponsible I was and how I was just like my dad with all those foolish, romantic, noble notions about fairy tales and happy endings and that it was about time I grew up and learned some sense about the realities of life and how to take care of money and spend it on things that were needed and not on silly things.
She said that I was going to end up in the poorhouse because I believe in stupid things like Christmas trees, things that didn’t amount to anything.
I just stood there. My mother had never talked to me like that before and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
I felt awful and I began to cry. Finally, she reached out and snapped off the porch light.
“Leave it there,” she said. “Leave that tree there till it rots, so every time we see it, we’ll all be reminded of how stupid the men in this family are.”
Then she stormed up the stairs to her bedroom and we didn’t see her until the next day.
Dad and I brought the tree in and we made a stand for it.
He got out the box of ornaments and we decorated it as best as we could; but men aren’t too good at things like that, and besides, it wasn’t the same without mom.
There were a few presents under it by Christmas day – although I can’t remember a single one of them – but Mom wouldn’t have anything to do with it.
It was the worst Christmas I ever had.
Fast forward to today, Judi and I married in August of 1963, and dad died on October 10 of that year. Over the next eight years, we lived in many places. Mom sort of divided up the year – either living with my sister Jary or with us.
In 1971 we were living in Wichita, Kansas – Lincoln was about seven, Brendan was three and Kristen was a baby. Mom was staying with us during the holidays. On Christmas Eve I stayed up very late. I was totally alone with my thoughts, alternating between joy and melancholy, and I got to thinking about my paper route, that tree, what my mother had said to me and how Dad had tried to make things better.
I heard a noise in the kitchen and discovered that it was mom. She couldn’t sleep either and had gotten up to make herself a cup of hot tea – which was her remedy for just about everything. As she waited for the water to boil, she walked into the living room and discovered me there. She saw my open Bible and asked me what I was reading. When I told her, she asked if I would read it to her and I did.
When the kettle began to whistle, she went and made her tea. She came back, and we started to visit. I told her how happy I was that she was with us for Christmas and how I wished that Dad could have lived to see his grandchildren and to enjoy this time because he always loved Christmas so. It got very quiet for a moment and then she said, “Do you remember that time on Twelve Mile Road when you bought that tree with your paper route money?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve just been thinking about it you know.”
She hesitated for a long moment, as though she were on the verge of something that was bottled up so deeply inside her soul that it might take surgery to get it out. Finally, great tears started down her face and she cried, “Oh, son, please forgive me.”
“That time and that Christmas have been a burden on my heart for twenty-five years. I wish your dad were here so I could tell him how sorry I am for what I said. Your dad was a good man and it hurts me to know that he went to his grave without ever hearing me say that I was sorry for that night. Nothing will ever make what I said right, but you need to know that your dad never did have any money sense (which was all too true).
We were fighting all the time – though not in front of you – we were two months behind in our house payments, we had no money for groceries, your dad was talking about going back to Arkansas and that tree was the last straw. I took it all out on you. It doesn’t make what I did right, but I hoped that someday, when you were older, you would understand. I’ve wanted to say something for ever so long and I’m so glad it’s finally out.”
Well, we both cried a little and held each other and I forgave her – it wasn’t hard, you know.
Then we talked for a long time, and I did understand; I saw what I had never seen and the bitterness and sadness that had gathered up in me for all those years gradually washed away.
It was marvelously simple.
The great gifts of this season – or any season – can’t be put under the tree; you can’t wear them or eat them or drive them or play with them. We spend so much time on the lesser gifts – toys, sweaters, jewelry, the mint, anise and dill of Christmas – and so little on the great gifts – understanding, grace, peace and forgiveness. It’s no wonder that the holiday leaves us empty, because when it’s over, the only reminders we have are the dirty dishes and the January bills.
https://www.geezgo.com/sps/47902
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>
Daily word of inspiration: Don’t Be Afraid
Here we are, afraid of losing what we have all the time, holding on to
it so tight that not a soul can touch it. We think by hiding it from the
world, it’s hidden and it’s ours. Nothing is. Nothing ever will be.
For, nothing ever was.
If you think there is anything that you have, that’s yours, be it money, a house, a job, or a girlfriend… it’s nothing but an illusion. It’ll all disappear… in one blow. One blow, my man.
Here we are, so insecure that we are afraid of re-starting our lives, so we just carry on trying to sort out the current mess. The thought that we should give it all up and just start all over – with nothing – might cross our minds some time, sure, but we get scared and we push away anything that scares us.
There is nothing I can ever achieve or gain that I cannot lose, in a matter of seconds. You have never gained enough to not be able to lose it all, in just a few minutes. What you think is yours, was never yours and will never be yours. Whatever you make here, you leave here. You came naked and you’re going to go back naked.
So what are you afraid of?
Let all be lost. Let them take away everything. As long as you have your heart beating strong, as long as you have your nostrils working fine, as long as the blood flows in your veins, you will live, you will breathe and you can get it all back… again and again. For, if you can do it once, you can damn well do it again. It’s just a game we play – Life.
https://www.geezgo.com/sps/44654
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>
If you think there is anything that you have, that’s yours, be it money, a house, a job, or a girlfriend… it’s nothing but an illusion. It’ll all disappear… in one blow. One blow, my man.
Here we are, so insecure that we are afraid of re-starting our lives, so we just carry on trying to sort out the current mess. The thought that we should give it all up and just start all over – with nothing – might cross our minds some time, sure, but we get scared and we push away anything that scares us.
There is nothing I can ever achieve or gain that I cannot lose, in a matter of seconds. You have never gained enough to not be able to lose it all, in just a few minutes. What you think is yours, was never yours and will never be yours. Whatever you make here, you leave here. You came naked and you’re going to go back naked.
So what are you afraid of?
Let all be lost. Let them take away everything. As long as you have your heart beating strong, as long as you have your nostrils working fine, as long as the blood flows in your veins, you will live, you will breathe and you can get it all back… again and again. For, if you can do it once, you can damn well do it again. It’s just a game we play – Life.
https://www.geezgo.com/sps/44654
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>
Daily word of encouragement: The Smell of Rain
A cold March wind danced around the dead
of night in Dallas as the Doctor walked into the small hospital room of
Diana Blessing. Still groggy from surgery, her husband David held her
hand as they braced themselves for the latest news. That afternoon of
March 10,1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24 weeks pregnant,
to Danae Lu Blessing.
At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they
already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor’s soft
words dropped like bombs. I don’t think she’s going to make it, he said,
as kindly as he could. “There’s only a 10 percent chance she will live
through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make
it, her future could be a very cruel one.” Numb with disbelief, David
and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems
Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would
never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be
prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete
mental retardation, and on and on. “No! No!” was all Diana could say.
She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the
day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a
matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.
Through the dark hours of morning as Danae held onto life by the thinnest thread, Diana slipped in and out of sleep, growing more and more determined that their tiny daughter would live, and live to be a healthy, happy young girl. But David, fully awake and listening to additional dire details of their daughter’s chances of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less healthy, knew he must confront his wife with the inevitable. David walked in and said that we needed to talk about making funeral arrangements. Diana remembers, ‘I felt so bad for him because he was doing everything, trying to include me in what was going on, but I just wouldn’t listen, I couldn’t listen. I said, “No, that is not going to happen, no way! I don’t care what the doctors say; Danae is not going to die! One day she will be just fine, and she will be coming home with us!”
As if willed to live by Diana’s determination, Danae clung to life hour after hour, with the help of every medical machine and marvel her miniature body could endure. But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Danae’s under-developed nervous system was essentially raw, the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl. There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger.
But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Danae turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later-though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero. Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.
Today, five years later, Danae is a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She shows no signs, what so ever, of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she is everything a little girl can be and more-but that happy ending is far from the end of her story.
One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ballpark where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing. As always, Danae was chattering non-stop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, Danae asked, “Do you smell that?” Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.” Danae closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?” Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet, it smells like rain. Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, “No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.” Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Danae then happily hopped down to play with the other children.
Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along. During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.
This is a real story.
At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they
already knew she was perilously premature. Still, the doctor’s soft
words dropped like bombs. I don’t think she’s going to make it, he said,
as kindly as he could. “There’s only a 10 percent chance she will live
through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make
it, her future could be a very cruel one.” Numb with disbelief, David
and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems
Danae would likely face if she survived. She would never walk, she would
never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be
prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete
mental retardation, and on and on. “No! No!” was all Diana could say.
She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the
day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a
matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.Through the dark hours of morning as Danae held onto life by the thinnest thread, Diana slipped in and out of sleep, growing more and more determined that their tiny daughter would live, and live to be a healthy, happy young girl. But David, fully awake and listening to additional dire details of their daughter’s chances of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less healthy, knew he must confront his wife with the inevitable. David walked in and said that we needed to talk about making funeral arrangements. Diana remembers, ‘I felt so bad for him because he was doing everything, trying to include me in what was going on, but I just wouldn’t listen, I couldn’t listen. I said, “No, that is not going to happen, no way! I don’t care what the doctors say; Danae is not going to die! One day she will be just fine, and she will be coming home with us!”
As if willed to live by Diana’s determination, Danae clung to life hour after hour, with the help of every medical machine and marvel her miniature body could endure. But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana. Because Danae’s under-developed nervous system was essentially raw, the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl. There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger.
But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there. At last, when Danae turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time. And two months later-though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero. Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.
Today, five years later, Danae is a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She shows no signs, what so ever, of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she is everything a little girl can be and more-but that happy ending is far from the end of her story.
One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ballpark where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing. As always, Danae was chattering non-stop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent. Hugging her arms across her chest, Danae asked, “Do you smell that?” Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.” Danae closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?” Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet, it smells like rain. Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, “No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.” Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Danae then happily hopped down to play with the other children.
Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along. During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.
This is a real story.
Join Geezgo for free. Use Geezgo's end-to-end encrypted Chat with your Closenets (friends, relatives, colleague etc) in personalized ways.>>