You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. — Psalm 30:11
"Ugh, I'm so stiff today," she says, stretching into her splits with a grimace on her face. "I told myself I'd stretch over the weekend, but I didn't. Now I'm paying for it."
I look up from my own stretching and glance at my friend, whose legs are both extended into a perfect split, exactly one hundred and eighty degrees. Stiff, indeed, I think rather bitterly. I'll be lucky if I can go all the way down in my splits today.
Just a few words, not even spoken aloud. And yet, that seed of discontent needs no more than a few words to act as water, a few unpleasant thoughts to play the sunshine, and it will start spreading roots.
I've been dancing for nearly as long as I can remember. As a little girl, I would spend hours twirling around in some semblance of a pirouette to Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker, giving my own rendition of each respective dance. My favorite track was the third on our CD, titled "March", arguably the most recognizable piece in the ballet. I loved it for its swooping power and the way it made me feel like alternately spinning faster than a top and then leaping until my head threatened to brush the ceiling. My sisters and I begged our mother to allow us to watch the New York Ballet's edition of The Nutcracker down in the basement on the tiny VCR player almost once a week, but we wouldn't sit and watch for long — after about twenty minutes of squishing together on the couch, we would be leaping and spinning about, our movements somewhat less graceful than those we were attempting to mimic. More than anything, we wanted to be like those dancers. We dreamed of performing someday on a real stage, dancing the lead role of the graceful Sugar Plum Fairy.
For someone who has such lengthy history of dance, it might surprise you that the years I've spent enrolled at a studio do not number past seven. From age seven to nine, my sisters and I took weekly classes at a small Christian studio, but when it closed down at the end of our third year, we switched to gymnastics for two years before finding the studio at which we currently dance. We've been here for almost four years now, but sometimes it feels like much longer.
I never have been a particularly talented dancer. I don't say that to garner pity or earn myself attention — it's the honest truth. I don't have the gifting or flexibility to ever pursue dance as a profession. For me, it is enough to learn and grow as best I can in high school and leave my career as a dancer there. If I think about it honestly, I don't want to spend my early adult years pursuing a position as a professional dancer. The brutal competitions, the ugly ways in which the girls treat each other, and the constant anxiety over getting the right part in order to be able to pay your bills would wear me down in a matter of months. Dancing is and always will be something I love, but it does not take precedence over writing, my heart's first love, and reading, something I consider a very valuable asset of my life. Further, I feel the intense lifestyle of a dancer would ruin the art for me after a time. The beauty of it would chip away under the oppressive file of getting parts, obsessing over my weight, and trying to survive.
It's easy for me to type that here as if the matter were my choice alone, but the truth is, I could not make a living off of my talent as a dancer if that was what I desired. I am not a horrible dancer by any standard, but my measure of talent is the bare minimum required by all young ladies who wish to be ballerinas. With so many girls auditioning for just a few spots in ballet companies, my own skill would not be enough to win me a space.
There are, however, girls I know who have the talent I do not, the gifting I will never attain. They dance with a grace and beauty that cannot be rivaled, no matter how hard I may try. And even though I've accepted the fact that the world of professional dance is not for me, it's still hard for me to watch others attaining for something I would love to possess as an option, if nothing more than that. Though I would not choose to dance professionally, I selfishly desire the talent that would allow me to choose on a basis of personal opinion alone. I want to be the one gracefully declining that path, rather than having someone else inform me that I'm not good enough.
At the heart of the issue is pride, rearing its wretched and ugly head, holding me back from humbly admitting that my skill as a dancer will only reach a certain point while others go further. In every other area of my life, I feel competent. My writing is by no means perfect, nor will it ever reach such a height, but I feel relatively confident in my ability to write with greater skill as the years progress. If I put the proper amount of time into the books I pen, I can see improvement. If I study well, apply myself to my schoolwork, and prepare for tests, I will earn a high grade. If I speak French and Spanish around the house, my tongue will speak the unfamiliar syllables with increasing ease. Never has there arisen in my life an area that could not be corrected or improved with time and toil. Dance is a challenge for me because it is one of the few areas in my life that is partly out of my control — and being the stubborn and sinful human that I am, I don't like that.
My dance studio's mission is to make use of this beautiful art as a means of outreach, ministry, and ultimately worship. Though my instructor encourages us to seek excellence and teaches us the same Russian Vaganova technique as the most professional studios, she never urges us to be perfect. Our highest goal is to worship God through our dance as David worshiped the Lord when the Ark of the Covenant was brought into Jerusalem. We never should grow so consumed with thoughts of technique and counts that we lose the beauty of the movements and the reverence for the One we are worshiping.
I'd like to say I always dance with this attitude. The truth of the matter is that I rarely stand at the barre or go across the floor without at least one discontent thought in my head. I am, however, working to improve on that. Rather than focusing on my own deficiencies, I've been trying to uplift and encourage those around me, even when they feel inadequate. As each day goes by, I'm seeking more and more to turn my focus on the Lord and to dance for Him alone. I know He sees my every flaw, and yet He still calls me beautiful.
And as a dancer, that's all my heart desires.
. . .
Elizabeth Rose is a young lady of tender years who takes pleasure in a great variety of pastimes, chief among them being writing. She lives in the southern United States with her large family, and has been home schooled her whole life. Her debut novel, Violets Are Blue, was published in April 2012 and can be purchased on Amazon. You can find her on Literary Lane, most likely with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in t'other.
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