Juxtaposition...

I love the silence,

just before a kiss

between lovers lips.

The stillness of his body,

entwined with mine.

Children in bed.

A house at rest.

Oversaturation,

coming to an end.  

I HATE the silence,

after harsh words

between lovers lips.

Waiting.

Waiting. Waiting. 

W

   a

      i

         t

           i

              n

                  g.

Standing over a freshly dug grave.

A suffocating moment.

The doctor's results.

The call that never comes.

A rapist's breath,

before he unzips.

Somewhere, a cold, steel blade,

is touching someone's wrist.

I love the silence.

Mornings on the porch.

Sunlight on my face.

Thoughts trickle

from reservoirs deep.

A crisp, blank page.

Daydreaming.

Quiet contemplation.

Submerged in prayer.
A holy moment.

A deep exhale.

The sky is gray and gloomy,

silver raindrops drizzling ever so gently.

The silence was truly golden this morning,

but sometimes it's not...

sometimes it's deafening, isn't it?

Just pondering the juxtaposition of it all.

Somewhere out there, 
someone is soaking in the silence...
Somewhere out there, 
someone is drowning in it.
Maybe it's you.
If you're feeling overwhelmed this morning,
I'd love to pray for you.
Shoot me an email at mangiabella@live.com

Something Worth Celebrating...

Our youngest son has officially mastered potty training,

and can go through the night with no accidents.

It appears we have officially retired the diapers 

FOREVERRRRRRRRRRRR.

*arms raised to the heavens ~ chorus of hallelujahs rising in the air*

This is a bittersweet milestone, of course.

Another season passing by.

It marks the end of an era, really.

I could tell you, with some kind of perverse pat on the back,

that, in so many words, it means I’ve “survived.”

You know, survived the baby phase.

A bazillion diaper changes.

The toddler years.

The TEETHING.

oh Lord, the teething.

But, all I’d REALLY be saying,

is that I survived MYSELF.

My own nature.

My selfish tendencies.

My impatience.

My ideologies.

My temperament.

My way.

And above all, my fears.

My children have exposed my flaws,

uncovered my weaknesses,

and revealed my fallibility with pinpoint precision.

Of course, this has been absolutely vital in 

inspiring personal growth & necessary change.

And so, I suppose, at the end of the day,

that IS something worth celebrating ;)

Can you relate?

Funny how our children 

become some of our greatest teachers, 

isn’t it?

I believe that children's “formative years” 

parallel parent's “transformative years,”

and soul ripening is a beautiful thing.

  

What about you? 

Have you had to get over yourself recently?