Life in Mississippi

It’s a Saturday morning; sitting here at 8:00 AM with my cup of coffee, I am unable to sleep in. My inability to relax after a week filled with physical exertion beyond my body’s usual capabilities came as a shock as I unwillingly rolled out of bed this morning. With that said, I decided that it would be a good time to write about my time here in Mississippi, which I have somehow failed to accomplish until now. I am currently in my second year here with Ballet Magnificat, which began last week as I somberly walked off the plane in the faith of the Lord’s will. Monday morning took off with a rough start as my body (which hadn’t danced for two months due to injuries) journeyed through the daily 5 hours of class and rehearsal. To my surprise, I began to find my niche here in Ol’ Miss once again as I bonded with the wonderful people that I’ve found friendships with, as well as become reacquainted with the gift to be able to dance and give it to God. The week’s agenda primarily entailed the preparation of my level’s participation in the Women of Faith tour, which required much choreography learned, staged, and rehearsed. With the honor of being given such a privilege came a heightened expectation of excellence in this pursuit, as well as an intimidating deadline of completion which must be met. With a body still recovering from injury, this task seemed daunting yet with trust and a required confidence, I knew I was capable of meeting. 

As Friday rolled around, all of my being was ready for the weekend. After learning five dances and pushing through insurmountable amounts of soreness and a drained mind, I was thankful to find that I had just the right amount of strength left in me to finish Friday’s afternoon rehearsal. Or so I thought. About mid rehearsal, we began to run a dance that we had learned the day before. Once my group was asked to perform the dance, I was nervous yet confident that I would be able to conjure up the strength to complete the lively and oh so tiring dance. Once the dance began, I found that my knowledge and mental memorization of the choreography was not enough; to my dismay the dance involved corrections given solely to me on my spacial awareness of the other dancers and of the marks on which my dancing needed to follow. Once the piece ended, what followed were corrections and disappointment from the director that I could no longer take. As the criticism rolled in, so did the tears as I could no longer hold in the weight and disappointment of my failings. Before I knew it, I had ventured over to the drinking fountain adjacent to the studio, where I found myself crying out the situation (Ok, sometimes, a girl’s gotta cry). I also found myself forgetting how to breathe, as my failed efforts to hold back the tears inconveniently inhibited me from pulling in the deep breaths that I needed after performing the exhausting ballet. One of the apprentices came along beside me, showing me how to breathe deep breaths instead of the shallow hiccups I presently could muster. Thinking back to this ordeal, it paints quite a pitiful yet comical picture in my head. You might think that once I was able to relax and dry my eyes, that I wanted to go crawl in a hole. Thankfully, that was not the case. 

As I returned to the studio and watched the other groups rehearse, I began to realize that I didn’t care what the director or the other girls thought. I didn’t care that I failed to perform the piece just perfectly and pleasingly in the others’ sight. Not because I lost all motivation or confidence in myself, but because I remembered my valuable identity apart from dance. As I sat there, I felt a wave of peace permeate my spirit as the Lord reminded me that my identity solely resides in my identity as a redeemed daughter of Christ. I felt completely satisfied in who I am, not in what I do. I think we so easily muddle and meld together our value in who we are with what we do. Growing up, I was always known as the dancer and was praised for the gift that I had. But through my experience this week, the Lord laid such a foundational perspective in my life. Walking out of the studio yesterday, I found hope and vulnerability in giving this gift once again to whom it came from. This gift of dance is His, and I pray that every time I step into class or step on to that stage, that it’s efforts and glory would be for Him rather than myself. As I sit in this chair today with my warm cup of coffee and fresh perspective, I am reassured in this truth, and it is enough for me. I have not yet perfected the dance, nor fully regained my strength and fitness, but I rest in these truths. and though I asked for physical strength to get me through this week, the Lord not only gave me that. He gave me His strength that can stand through anything.

Fix My Eyes- a hopeful and depraved heart.

It’s been a while since I last wrote, and as I’ve found no sufficient reason for this neglect, I can only allude to the many mundane activities that seem to fill my time so quickly. Not only do these activities fill my time, but mindless thoughts and worries concerning my well-being also seem to occupy most of my mental capacity. I’ve come to the realization that much of my life has been spent placing hope on temporary things. Often caught in the fixation of what my desires enveloped, I constructed pictures of how my life would look if “fulfilled”. Feeling empty once certain events, people, or opportunities came and went, I continued a cycle of disappointment. During the early stages of my time in Mississippi, many of the comforts and familiarities I once relied on were taken away. In a state of brokenness, I was compelled to completely rely on the Lord. Seeing my inadequacy and lack of strength, I began setting my hope in who the Lord is, rather than in who I am and what my life has to offer. In order to understand this issue of hope, it is important to understand and acknowledge the basic human desire for fulfillment. I’ve begun to see how greatly our desires and passions govern and define much of who we are. There is an expectation, a hope, that these aspects of our life will give meaning to our existence. We long for fulfillment. As we enter this earth empty handed, we grow and develop with the expectation of filling that emptiness. Once my personal emptiness became evident in my life, God’s grandeur became more and more evident. And that is why today I felt a heaviness in hoping in the Lord. Hope in its formal definition is to “cherish a desire with anticipation”. My only desire today is that my hope rests in the one who never fails. 

Romans 5: 3-5

Romans 8: 24-25

Hebrews 10: 23

For My Family

I sit here tonight shamelessly sporting a pair of authentic and totally dorky (sorry, Mom) Kodiac themed boxers, an oversized and conspicuously boyish sweatshirt (thanks, Greg) a face spotted with acne medication, and a genuine yet retainer filled smile (thanks, adolescence). As I look around my bedroom, I can’t help but let the nostalgia of childhood waft over me. A plethora of pictures, girlish nicknacks, my cozy white bed and an old tutu hanging on the wall all attribute to this strangely familiar surrounding. Jack just walked in (it’s 2:04 AM) crunching on a bowl of honey bunches of oats and noting that a chewed piece of gum is sitting on my nightstand (oops!) all while laughing about today’s instances with friends. 

Tonight I write because it finally hit me that all of this will change very soon. The next thought I begin to ponder is whether I am okay with this or not. I begin to think back to tonight’s earlier instances, which entailed babysitting with Mary Kate and watching the timeless film To Kill a Mockingbird. During the sentimental car ride home, Mary and I meditated on the themes of innocence and ardor that could only be portrayed through the eyes of an eager and endearing child such as Scout. Impelled to smile at the thought of the movie’s soft, puerile music that still couldn’t seem to get out of my head, I surprisingly felt wet tears well up in my eyes, causing Mary to sigh an empathetic chuckle and rub my back. A swift rush of memories began to flood my brain: Chasing after Jack and his friends in the summer, playing in the creek across from our house and exploring Leslie’s thick and wondrous vegetation (or so it seemed of that sort), waking up to the fresh smell of dad’s bacon enveloping our tent while camping, crawling into bed with mom at night, being viscously attacked by our cat Oliver (though I’d rather think of fond memories with Baxter), dancing in my pajamas as I get ready for school in the morning, or waking up to the pure and unequivocal excitement of a snow day. 

With these reflections I couldn’t help but realize how wonderful my life has been thus far. Because of you, I have been so incredibly blessed, and will always dearly look back on my youth with a sense of raw affection. Though I may move geographically; experiencing new people and new surroundings, I will always think of you as home. When reflecting on my childhood experiences, I realized what matters most is the love that I have for each of you, individually and uniquely shared throughout the span of these past 18 years. I will always hold you at the highest place in my heart, and will always remember the limitless love that I received from each of you. Just as Scout stepped onto Boo Radley’s porch and began to see the world from a new and lucid perspective, I too look forward to experiencing a new perspective through my adventure this coming year. With this I believe that my inquiry has been answered: Am I okay with this? Yes. Because I am satisfied that I can leave behind a childhood that was simply marked by love. And with that, I thank you. 

Love, 

Sarah