Micki's Musings

I'm stirring the pond. I used to work so hard not to disturb the silt at the bottom. I used so much energy to keep the water clear, but the whole pond is boiling, now. It hurts and it's confusing and it's terrifying and it's amazing. My mind and body are in chaos with the shifting and digging and expelling. I no longer wish to be still. I no longer tolerate stagnation. I want to flow. I'm building a river. A river that leads to an ocean that once again becomes rivers and streams and rivers and oceans again until I reach the whole entire world.  I won't be contained anymore. My body and mind are very confused by this. I always yearned for stability. I always wanted things to be predictable and under control. They never were, yet for some reason I would continually fight tooth and nail to try and make them that way. Now, I'm making tidal waves in my little pond and watching as they stretch and grow and I'm not exactly sure what impact they'll have or w

I have some foundational, core beliefs that don't serve me anymore, and I'm working on dismantling them. They are bedrock-level beliefs, though. They are strong. They have been there for a long time. And now, they are holding me back from what I want to be and what I want to do. I've graduated from chipping away with a pick axe to shattering with a jackhammer. I want this for myself, but even still, every time I turn on the jackhammer, it jars me and it hurts and parts of me don't want the wall to crumble because I'm not entirely sure what will be on the other side. There are strong hooks still embedded in me that want me to stay back inside of my old beliefs. I understand it there. It's comfortable there. I could give in and stay and I'd be okay, but this new part of me that has tasted more would shrivel and feel betrayed and I've gotten to know her too well and I love her too much to let that happen.  So I strain against the hooks and shatter the wall

Recently, some teenage boys made me cry.  My son had a group of friends over for a New Year's Eve celebration. They played hard all night long, ate tons of junk food, puzzled over the mysteries of girls and school and family and friends, and passed out all over the house by around 5 AM. Then, they woke up by 8:30, got themselves put together, and went to church with me. This made me happy, but it didn't make me cry. Then we came back home and they made lunch. I was in my bedroom letting them do their thing, not paying too much attention to the happy chaos in the next room, when everything hushed for a moment. This sudden hush piqued my attention. Anyone who has experienced a house full of children at any age knows that when it's too quiet, it's time to pay attention, so I listened.  I listened to them pray over the food. Not prodded, not nagged, not reminded, this group of 16-17 year old boys prayed over their food. Because that's what they've been taught. Becau