dance lessons
Have you ever been dancing? I'm not talking about that strange phenomenon they do these days - just moving hips and closing eyes in dark places with loud music and strange smells - I mean dancing, with a partner and a good beat. Maybe there was a waltz or a foxtrot or something equally classy.
I began dancing in sixth grade - at this strange thing people in the south like to put on called Cotillion, where they try to teach sixth graders manners and the waltz and only sometimes succeed in the waltz. They ask the ladies to wear gloves, and the men to wear sport coats, and there's a coatroom and girls were expected to carry hand-purses, which I packed with candy because what else? In sixth grade this was so strange and fancy. The girls lined up on the left; the boys on the right, and at the first song we all took partners, and this man named Mr. Thorp would lead us through learning all sorts of dances.
Sixth grade boys cannot dance. Okay, it is possible that they can - but they refused to. They had their cell phones on them, they chewed gum, and they certainly weren't listening to the directions of Mr. Thorp. If a girl really wanted to learn to dance, she had to lead - take the situation firmly in her hands, listen alertly, and step confidently. Very occasionally, I would get a partner who was listening - and trying really hard, but we would clash because he wouldn't actually be doing it right or we would both try to lead.
And sometimes - if a girl was really lucky, she'd get to dance with a Junior Assistant - a high school boy who was supposed to just help out but often partnered with the girls since there weren't enough boys for even partners. The Junior Assistants knew what they were doing far better than any sixth grader - and in this, it was all a girl could do to even try and follow along, And it was marvelous, except that partners changed so often you were lucky to have him for more than three minutes.
Following God must be like dancing with a good partner. You don't know exactly what's coming, but he's got you in his arms, subtly putting pressure here or there to turn, to tell you when and where to step, and half-carries you across the dance floor in a dizzying and breathless array of spins, of twirling skirts, of bright eyes, a racing heart.
Often it feels like following God is like trying to dance without a partner. I'm reading my bible, I'm praying - I'm reading about how to dance, and asking questions to a distant dance instructor who but smiles and nods. I'm going to church - I'm queuing outside the ballroom with so many other hopeful dancers. I try and dance with the other partners of this world - pleasure and greed and pride - but they step on my toes, they drag me away from the dance floor, they have the less than the least amount of style in their step.
He's waiting, y'all. Right now, we've got our dance manual - the bible, we're picking out our outfit - becoming who we'd like to be through the Holy Spirit, practicing the steps in our rooms, alone before a mirror - praying and singing and being decent human beings. How will you curtsy when you meet God? How low shall you bow - before he looks to you through Christ, before he takes your hands in his, and you begin to dance.
I began dancing in sixth grade - at this strange thing people in the south like to put on called Cotillion, where they try to teach sixth graders manners and the waltz and only sometimes succeed in the waltz. They ask the ladies to wear gloves, and the men to wear sport coats, and there's a coatroom and girls were expected to carry hand-purses, which I packed with candy because what else? In sixth grade this was so strange and fancy. The girls lined up on the left; the boys on the right, and at the first song we all took partners, and this man named Mr. Thorp would lead us through learning all sorts of dances.
Sixth grade boys cannot dance. Okay, it is possible that they can - but they refused to. They had their cell phones on them, they chewed gum, and they certainly weren't listening to the directions of Mr. Thorp. If a girl really wanted to learn to dance, she had to lead - take the situation firmly in her hands, listen alertly, and step confidently. Very occasionally, I would get a partner who was listening - and trying really hard, but we would clash because he wouldn't actually be doing it right or we would both try to lead.
And sometimes - if a girl was really lucky, she'd get to dance with a Junior Assistant - a high school boy who was supposed to just help out but often partnered with the girls since there weren't enough boys for even partners. The Junior Assistants knew what they were doing far better than any sixth grader - and in this, it was all a girl could do to even try and follow along, And it was marvelous, except that partners changed so often you were lucky to have him for more than three minutes.
Following God must be like dancing with a good partner. You don't know exactly what's coming, but he's got you in his arms, subtly putting pressure here or there to turn, to tell you when and where to step, and half-carries you across the dance floor in a dizzying and breathless array of spins, of twirling skirts, of bright eyes, a racing heart.
Often it feels like following God is like trying to dance without a partner. I'm reading my bible, I'm praying - I'm reading about how to dance, and asking questions to a distant dance instructor who but smiles and nods. I'm going to church - I'm queuing outside the ballroom with so many other hopeful dancers. I try and dance with the other partners of this world - pleasure and greed and pride - but they step on my toes, they drag me away from the dance floor, they have the less than the least amount of style in their step.
He's waiting, y'all. Right now, we've got our dance manual - the bible, we're picking out our outfit - becoming who we'd like to be through the Holy Spirit, practicing the steps in our rooms, alone before a mirror - praying and singing and being decent human beings. How will you curtsy when you meet God? How low shall you bow - before he looks to you through Christ, before he takes your hands in his, and you begin to dance.
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