Growing up, my family went on summer vacations together every year. Sometimes my Grandma Betty came with us, and when she did, I would always be “assigned” to share a bedroom with her. She snored like a bear, but I was the only person it didn’t bother.
I remember one time when we were staying in a little town called Winthrop, in Washington state. Winthrop looks like an old western town and we had a lot of fun there. I remember the magician in the street who embarrassed me; he called on me to be his assistant, messed up the trick, and then jokingly blamed me. I also remember my parents buying me some paper dolls in a shop there. That really made my day. Anyway, one night while we were staying in Winthrop, my grandma and I were lying in bed talking, and I told her I liked the word “blood” because it looks funny and doesn’t sound like it’s spelled. I said it was my favorite word. “What’s your favorite word, Grandma?”
“I think love.”
“That’s my other favorite word,” I said quickly. Kids always want to agree with someone who they think has a better opinion than they do, don’t they? But since then, blood and love really have been my favorite words.
I never even realized until a few years ago just how connected those two words are.
To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father—to him be glory and power for ever and ever! Amen. Revelation 1:6