Everything Beautiful

When we were very young, my mother gave her children the gifts of poetry, music, and song. When I was afraid, I could sing a song, or play the piano, or write poetry until the fear subsided and courage won the race. When I took a dance class, a new fear arose—fear of never achieving graceful movement without embarrassment. But I eventually found the courage to put aside fear and dance for myself and by myself. How grateful to God I was for that defining moment of creativity and spontaneity.

As I matured, my schedule crowded with responsibility. Until I met my future husband, I had little time for play. But he was loving, kind, joyful, and one of the finest gentlemen I have ever known. And he was a great dancer. We married and continued to dance our different ways. Two years ago, we took tango lessons and excitedly made plans to tango in Paris under the Eiffel Tower.

But my dear husband died, and there grew in me a foreign and empty place. I tried to write, but not a creative original word waved from the paper. I tried to listen to music, old and new; but no tune soothed my soul. I tried to sing; but none of those rock-of-ages songs from my childhood gave peace. Dancing? It never came to mind.

Months later, I had occasion to speak with one of the elders in my church. One would never know that she was having a difficult time. Her smile lit up the space as she maneuvered her wheelchair about the rooms. While she spoke to me of her personal loss, I was selfishly daydreaming, wondering whether I would ever again write, play the piano, sing, or dance. Then her words snatched me back into the conversation.

"I will never be too old to dance!" her voice boomed. "Never! My heart still laughs. Memories hold fast. My mind is ever bright with imaginings and light. I will never be too old to dance."

"Fly, spread your wings! God did not make me or you with a spirit of timidity," she exclaimed. In my shock, I realized she was quoting the very words I had written years ago for our church seniors. At that moment, somewhere in me fear subsided and courage found its place.

I now define dance not so much as movement of the body as movement of the heart. We are never too old to dance our dreams, our pain, our uncertainness, our thankfulness. Never too old to dance touch, loving words, and soul-truths. We are never too old to stretch beyond ourselves and seek God's celebration in and through ourselves.

Dear God, keep us faithful to your endless seasons of goodness and greatness. Help us to dance love, faith, and hope. Help us to fear not and find courage to see you in all of your people. Thank you, God. Amen.