I Hope You Dance: a sabbatical journey

 Mennonites don't dance.

That's just the way it is, right?

I don't dance. I CAN'T dance. That's the message I've told myself.
I feel the awkwardness of moving. Self-consciousness. 
    Fear.
    Of what others think. Their judgement. Their snickers. 

    How awkward and stiff and unnatural I must look.
More self-consciousness. Added embarrassment.

And yet there was the dream of a little girl
        watching the Nutcracker, longing to move gracefully across the floor.
A dream of being a ballerina. A Christmas tree ornament beautifully dressed in a pink tutu to represent the dream. An expression of fluidity and freedom. Worship in the graceful movement of the body.

But the body is evil. 

Movement is suggestive. 

The body to be repressed and hidden. 

            ...Is the message received. 

And yet...

Dance is something I've been drawn to for a long time. For a brief period, it was brought to life at camp and college through square dancing and swing dancing – dance that had more specific movements I could follow. Because hey, I'm still fairly uncoordinated and feel unnatural moving. But specific steps – ok, I can handle that.

More recently, as God has been stirring more self-confidence, there's been a little voice in the back of my mind suggesting joining a class, exploring something new, just to see how it goes. To step out of my box a bit. 

And now, sabbatical. A chance to rest, retreat... and the space to try something new. Give myself permission to explore and be energized in new ways. And now, this includes a worship dance class. 

The obvious factors:

• I'm 20 years older than anyone else in the class

• I have NO dance experience, compared to the girls who naturally know what “2^nd position” and “releve” and “plié” mean

• I suck at picking up choreography. No, really. The instructor runs through a section once or twice and the girls have it, whereas I stand there stupefied and trying to figure our which leg needs to go where and which arm I'm supposed to extend...

In the midst of those factors, this is what I've noticed:

I made the effort to find and join a class. Even knowing what it would be like. Years ago, the intimidation itself would have prevented me entering in, or giving up soon after starting. The fear of not being able to do it. Of looking foolish. Yep, still have that fear. But this time I'm choosing to push through it and sometimes even laugh at myself. So what has God done in me to bring me to a place of trying, even with the chance of failure, or what may appear like failure? Obviously some pieces of affirming who I am, a rootedness that maybe wasn't present before. Enough to be in the studio with these girls who are capable and let myself look odd and untrained and just enjoy what I can do. To be ok with my inexperience and being where I'm at without self-judgement and without projecting my own judgement of myself onto others, that they're judging me, too. And to receive God's delight in the trying, the exploring and even the awkwardness. I sense him cheering on even the chaos of it. “Try again! Don't worry about the others; you make it your own and enjoy this process of creating with me.”

(*Side note, because of the fear of failing, in this I'm so thankful I won't be part of their recital in the spring – I would stick out like a sore thumb as I would lag clumsily 2 beats behind everyone else! And probably ruin the whole effect of the dance. But because I won't be part of the recital, it gives me release to try and not feel the stress of getting it right.)

I WANT to be able to express myself and my worship through movement. It feels like an added element of release and giving. Yes, I still feel more self-conscious than I would like. But I believe that in the process God is pleased with my effort. He sees and delights in my heart and posture. And in it is an expression of worship previously unaccessed. There are moments of discouragement and anxiousness in trying to pick up movements and remember them. But then there are the moments of joy in getting it, in being able to move, of learning a new routine and finding pleasure in it. 

The instructor has said that I have natural movement. I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I want to believe that there is something that God has placed within me to use. Maybe it was dormant. Maybe it was never explored, whether it was never given the chance or because my fear held me back. And I wonder: are there other pieces that God has stirred in me that I've pushed down or ignored because of what I tell myself? That I haven't accepted an invitation for? That I can't? That it's too risky? That I'll look silly? That I might fail? That... ? Or even other pieces that he just hasn't stirred to life yet?

And then I notice the invitations I receive:

Accept. Accept myself where I am, how I am. Without judgement. 

Freedom. Freedom to try, to explore. To succeed or fail. 

Notice. Notice what is stirring or has been stirred in the past that I haven't yet chosen to accept the invitation to. Haven't yet asked what's in it or what God might want to do with it. 

Enjoy. Enjoy being in the moment without criticism. Enjoy his delight in my effort and exploration. Just be. Just dance.

Unfortunately, I will be ending my class next week, because I'll be traveling and exploring in a different way in this sabbatical season. But I don't want to lose the freedom and the growth. Don't want to lose the courage to step out and explore without self-judgement. Don't want to miss out because I haven't followed up on an invitation. It's a process for me, but has been worth stepping out. What might your invitation be? 

I hope you dance.

 

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance. 

I hope you dance... I hope you dance... 

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance 
Never settle for the path of least resistance 
Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin',
Don't let some Hell bent heart leave you bitter,
When you come close to sellin' out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

I hope you dance... I hope you dance.
I hope you dance... I hope you dance.
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years
And wonder where those years have gone.)

                                                            Lee Ann Womack

Lessons from Maggie: part 2

 

Psalm 139
A rewrite for Maggie

1 You have searched for me, Maggie
    and you have found me.
2 You are at my feet when I sit and on my heels when I rise;
    you keep a close eye on me, never afar.
3 You sense when I am leaving and ecstatically greet me in coming home;
    keeping watch at the door until I enter.
4 Before I speak the words, “We're going running”,
   you know it and lay down in protest, but still follow because you can't stay away. 
5 You hem my days, curled by my side in sleep
   and lunging at my face as I wake (please stop).
6 Such devotion is too wonderful for me;
   too baffling for me to comprehend

7 Where can I flee from your presence?
   Where can I escape from you following?
8 If I move to another room, you are there, a silent black shadow sticking close;
    if I lay on the couch, you beg to lay beside me.
9 If I wander outside,
    if I trudge up and down stairs umpteen times to get something I need from upstairs,
10 even then your presence follows;
    you can't let me out of your sight.
11 If I say, “Surely the bathroom will hide me
   and I'm have moments of solitude,”
12 even the door is not a barrier to you;
    you barge in to find me,
    leaving everything exposed, but satisfied in knowing where I am.

Seriously, in the past months, especially as I'm staying with my parents in a much larger house than the space we have in Prague, Maggie has reminded me of the closeness of the presence of the Holy Spirit. It's somewhat comical in this house, her need to follow. Because I'm not calling her to follow; I'm often not even aware under she's suddenly by my side or sitting on the carpet in front of me with a toy in her mouth. I'm never far from her sight or her awareness. I leave the room; she immediately knows and follows, almost frantic to be close. But wow, a powerful spiritual image for me: the consistency and constantness of her – and His – presence. Her DESIRE to be close. And has challenged me in my attentiveness and awareness of his closeness and desire to be with me. 

(Maybe a better metaphor would be how much I am aware of and devoted to the Spirit's way as closely as Maggie follows and is devoted to me. But in the past months it has been encouraging to relate Maggie to the Spirit, simply longing to be close and with me, so let's stick with that for now and leave the other for another time. :) )

Longing to be invited up to the couch to sit close. Sometimes content to simply lay nearby on the rug. So happy with a look her way, evidenced by back end wagging, hoping for some affection. Rolling over in anticipation of a belly rub – despite the fact that she's 10 feet away and can't be reached! But the simple joy in the attention, joy in receiving a look that says “I'm paying attention to you”. 

Does the Father have the same joy and excitement when my attention is toward him? I think he might; that it does give him pleasure – those moments when I turn toward him and notice his presence. I glimpse his grin, his look of delight, face beaming to enjoy the moment with me and enjoy me. His joy in being seen. Because yes, I believe he has those desires to be seen and known - those desires in me are a reflection of his. 

I confess that I am not so faithful and constant as he: I'm so easily distracted, find other things to focus on, and go through the day unaware of almost anything. And yet his gaze is constant, his presence always close. Like Maggie, never letting me out of his sight. And waiting expectantly for that moment when my glance is also going to turn his way.