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Me and the cutest 3-year-old - she has the sweetest voice and loves to sing, but also can be very strong-willed. This one is a leader and needs to be nurtured in the right way so that her spirit won't be broken by harsh discipline
Thankful for times and people who change your life… thankful for the ability to choose where I want to work and everything else. The former trafficked women I met in The Golden Triangle region do not have the freedom to choose because they were born in a village and have had limited education, nor have they developed confidence in themselves to fulfill their dreams. Those of us who do have decision-making power can help empower the voiceless. We have a huge responsibility if we’re willing…
As you reflect on love today, I wanted to share a beautiful story.
It’s from Brennan Manning’s book entitled, “Ragamuffin Gospel.”
“I stand by the bed where a young woman lies, her face postoperative, her mouth twisted in palsy, somewhat clownish. A tiny twig of the facial nerve, the one to the muscles of her mouth, had been severed.
She will be this way from now on. I had followed with religious fervor the curve of her flesh; nevertheless, to remove the tumor in her cheek, I had to cut the little nerve.
Her young husband is in the room. He stands on the opposite side of the bed and together they seem to dwell in the evening lamplight, isolated from me, the moment is a private one. Who are they, I ask myself? He and this wry mouth I have made, who gaze at each other so generously, so lovingly.
The young woman speaks. ”Will my mouth always be like this?’ she asks. “Yes, I say, it will. It is because the nerve was cut.”
She nods and is silent. But the young man smiles. “I like it,” he says, “It’s kind of cute.”
All at once I know who he is. I understand and I lower my gaze. One is not bold in an encounter with a God moment.
Unmindful, he bends to kiss her crooked mouth and I am so close I can see how he twists his own lips to accommodate to hers, to show her that their kiss still works.”
In this poem, Donne speaks of two souls, true soulmates, so intertwined. Wow. Breathtaking.
Now back to my project and the looming deadline!
A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
“Now his breath goes,” and some say, “No.”
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers’ love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, ’cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
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