Dancing

My mother was a dancer. Not professionally by any means, but rather she danced because dancing was very much a part of her culture.

While dating, my parents listened and danced to the big bands; Benny Goodman, Glen Miller, Duke Ellington and Count Basie. Though I never had the opportunity to witness their spinning, swaying and twirling to the music, Mom never did lose her sense of rhythm. 

Even in her later years, while listening to jazz on the radio, she’d snap her fingers, shake her hips and shuffle her feet to the rhythm whenever the opportunity presented itself. The tempo of music flowed through her body naturally, for as long as she lived. 

Dancing was still part of the culture while I was growing up. Therefore, Dad tried teaching me how to waltz. He was very patient, loving and kind with my process. First, he’d have me kick my shoes off, and then stand on top of his feet. The idea was to make me feel comfortable in his arms, sense the music and how the music went along with the dance steps. 

But, the real test came when Dad partnered me with my brother. It was serious business. Now, I had to pay attention, and follow my brother’s lead. Dancing with my brother was not fun. Instead, it was a chore. 

In elementary school P.E. I was exposed to cultural dances from around the world. We danced the Sasha, a free form Russian dance with partners, swung to a little rock and roll with Bo Diddley, stepped lightly in a conservative Danish dance, flowed freely in a circle in a dance from France, hopped around to a Mexican hot dance and shook our legs with the Virginia Reel from colonial America. 

Dancing, especially with a boy partner, made me nervous. My palms sweated, my heart beat too fast, and my mouth went dry. I felt clumsy with my feet and awkward in my body. 

I’d keep my eyes on the clock counting the minutes until class ended. I hated the dance unit in P.E. and longed for when we’d return to the familiar and fun games of dodgeball and kick ball. 

Following God’s Lead

Though I’ve had a taste of dancing, I’ve never had a taste for dancing. And though I admire those who can dance well, I am not someone who is admired for my dancing. So far, it’s just not natural for me. 

But, following Jesus, I’ve discovered, is a little bit like learning to dance. 

First of all Jesus leads. Even if I have to stand on his feet for a while to get comfortable with his embrace, that is okay. Standing on his feet, I’ve found, helps me to feel what it feels like to fully rely on him, and to trust that he will not let me go.

 Standing on his feet, without having to do much else, I become accustomed to hearing the nature of what he has to say. God is in the business of teaching which puts me in the business of learning. Learning with Jesus’ leading is not a chore and is becoming more natural for me. 

Why Bother?

Why bother learning to dance? God knows I sometimes feel awkward, nervous, and clumsy when learning a new dance. But no matter, God remains the patient, loving and kind father that he is.