Monday morning sunrise. Clicking through a mile-long mental to-do list? Stumbling into the week? Trudging one heavy step at a time? I can almost hear the millions of dragging feet around the world. When the journey ends... where was the dance?
I love music. With or without lyrics, it speaks to my heart when words fail. When words are inadequate or fleeting, music speaks. I unfetter my mind from the weight of the world, and my heart moves me to dance.
Pride and Prejudice. Little Women. The Sound of Music. Favorites all. Swirling dresses. Beautiful music. A bow. A curtsy. The dance.
When I was a little girl the blossoms of spring meant hours swinging amidst the treetops in the sunshine, making mud pies in old aluminum tins left to dry in the warm air, serving afternoon tea to gathered dolls on a colorful quilt spread on the lawn... and a new dress. A frothy swirl of layered chiffon. I would prop a delicate bonnet atop long, soft curls and slip my little feet into gleaming patent mary janes. And twirl. A circle of girlish delight... beaming... joyful.
Decades later I found myself living in South Florida's luxurious Palm Beach County, surrounded by opulent hotels, fine restaurants, breathtaking art galleries and sandy shores lined with yachts. Along came opportunities to dance in the glistening ballrooms of the Four Seasons and the Ritz Carlton. I wanted to know how to really dance. I longed to sail through intricate footwork as if I were floating on the musical strains of the fine string orchestra.
I enrolled in a dance class. Prairie girl. Country girl. So excited. I could barely keep my feet still as the instructors entered and began demonstrating the Foxtrot. Now it was our turn. The music began again. I received my partners' hands. I tried to follow his steps. Time and time again. Stopping. Starting. Listening to guidance. Yet I would stumble awkwardly. The instructor took me by the hand with knowledge and skill... and yet I faltered. Before long, he moved on. His partner moved elegantly through the footwork with my partner. I grew still and watched the room dance.
Learning to Foxtrot remains on my list of desires. But I'm still dancing. Now bare little feet step lightly onto mine and we glide about the warm, wooden kitchen floor as laughter floats into the air mixing with the aroma of a home-cooked meal. I sweep my boys off their feet through protests of "girl kisses" with their blushing cheeks and sparkling eyes.
I wonder if they will remember dancing with me when life brings rocky terrain and persevering seems an impossibility... when they feel like they're watching the rest of the world glide gracefully by, and all they can do is stumble.
I find myself too very many miles away from my daddy. As a little girl his steps were sure as I held his hand. If I grew weary, he would hoist me securely up onto his shoulders. If I grew sad, he would sweep me up, embracing me in tickles and giggles. It didn't matter if I had muddy hands or grass-stained knees... or how many times I had stumbled.
As a woman of faith, I hold my Father's hand. His way is sure. When I have wandered, dusty and worn, I look for Him. His eyes meet mine, and He smiles. The way clears in a bath of sunlight. He sweeps me up. And we dance.
If we can move our feet... we can dance. Dancing is an act of joy. Joy is a choice... a decision.
I am reading more about joy this week. Sally Clarkson and I have never met, yet I consider her a dear friend for the treasured words she has spoken to my heart time and again. I love the name of her blog, "I Take Joy"! Her recently released, "Dancing with My Father", beckons us to dance... to choose joy. As I move through these pages I am likely to share bits of her thoughts and inspiration here with you. When this journey ends... the music stops... I choose to be breathless... joyful... because I danced.
My card is open... the music is about to begin... dance with me?
Susan
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Share your comment here about choosing joy... dancing through life. Next Sunday, I will randomly select one of you to receive a copy of Sally's book, "Dancing with My Father". Spread the word! Invite others to take the floor.. and let's dance!