Today I start something that I have looked forward to for a long time.
I love school. I love reading. I love writing. I love discovering myself through talking until how I really feel finally emerges. I love books. I love meeting new friends. I love reading something that is exactly what I had been thinking, but didn't know how to articulate it.
I crave silence. I crave adventure. I crave being understood. I fear much. Too much.
I am weak. Physically weak- and long to be strong.
I often feel like I am not enough- but I also know that one voice can make a difference. I long to be a difference- maker.
I knew my voice... 12 years ago. But, it has changed. It has been buried under lullabies and laundry, cooking and moving, teaching and learning. I have grown into someone else. A mom and a wife. But, somewhere within that, I'm still Missy. And the dreams that I've had re-emerge. And my longing to go to school and do something ...more...less...I'm not even sure... come back again.
So, here is my first class since college- a lifetime and a half ago. When I (thought) I knew my voice. When it was rose-colored and assured. When it had strong opinions and loud leadership (or was that just youth?).
Now, my voice is softer, more flexible, uncertain and therefore, I am quicker to listen. Yet, there are words deep in my bones. And stories. There are dreams and characters and plots and quotes and I know I need to let these things take shape without fear.
I'm stepping into a new season. This new season will require bravery. And maybe I'll just discover my voice along the way.
I love school. I love reading. I love writing. I love discovering myself through talking until how I really feel finally emerges. I love books. I love meeting new friends. I love reading something that is exactly what I had been thinking, but didn't know how to articulate it.
I crave silence. I crave adventure. I crave being understood. I fear much. Too much.
I am weak. Physically weak- and long to be strong.
I often feel like I am not enough- but I also know that one voice can make a difference. I long to be a difference- maker.
I knew my voice... 12 years ago. But, it has changed. It has been buried under lullabies and laundry, cooking and moving, teaching and learning. I have grown into someone else. A mom and a wife. But, somewhere within that, I'm still Missy. And the dreams that I've had re-emerge. And my longing to go to school and do something ...more...less...I'm not even sure... come back again.
So, here is my first class since college- a lifetime and a half ago. When I (thought) I knew my voice. When it was rose-colored and assured. When it had strong opinions and loud leadership (or was that just youth?).
Now, my voice is softer, more flexible, uncertain and therefore, I am quicker to listen. Yet, there are words deep in my bones. And stories. There are dreams and characters and plots and quotes and I know I need to let these things take shape without fear.
I'm stepping into a new season. This new season will require bravery. And maybe I'll just discover my voice along the way.