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.
