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  • Writer's pictureLaura Kae

And I wept.

My counselor thinks my dancing can be redeemed for me here on earth. I have not thought so. I have always thought that is much like telling an alcoholic they should learn moderation instead of quitting. It is just not wise.

But this afternoon, I stood up from writing a paper. It took me three hours to write one page, and I was so frustrated. I do not know why, but I started to dance. Not just any dance, but the samba. My very favorite dance. I started to try to recall and practice moves I haven’t done in a year or more. It felt so good. I am on a noise fast and cannot have music, but who needs music to dance? One and uh two, three and uh four, five and uh six…

It was amazing. I broke out the chacha in my kitchen too small to do any proper move in. My steps were so small my long legs barely moved. But the music was in my soul. I waltzed ever so briefly because you certainly cannot do much waltzin’ where you cannot even do a proper chacha basic. The music flowed through me. My own music. The words I sang from hours of practice so long ago. I was alive, so very, very alive.

Nearly five minutes in, I threw my hands toward heaven, much the same as I did praising God in church this morning, and I asked Him, “May I dance again? Outside of wedlock, may I dance again?” So I danced to my music. As the songs continued, “Jesus take the Wheel” started to play. And I danced.

Over a half hour later, I raised my eyes toward heaven and I wondered aloud, “Father, why when I dance do I want You to go away? Why do I want You to just leave, so I can do my own thing and live my own life?” And I wept. Because I knew it was true. It was even still true.

At some point, I sank to the floor, sobs racking my body. “Why can’t I dance?” I sobbed. “What is so broken about me that I can’t dance for You?” “Why can’t I dance?” And I wept. I remembered how I have been learning the gospel message “but the good news is…”. I asked myself what the good news was. “What $#%&'(@* good news?” “Who really cared?” And I wept.

As I wept, I felt some weird combination of the person I was when I danced and who I am now. Crying out to my Father over something I gave up for Him. And I wept. “It’s too much,” I told Him, “You are asking too much. Don’t You know who I am? What kind of life You got me living? I want to have money again. I want to dance.” And I wept. “Two years ago, I worked my *$% off to come here to dance. I am not dancing.”

Then I told Him some really unkind things about my church. That kind of language that should not be on a blog. They tricked me. I was just this poor, naive soul, who was too broken to want to do the wrong things anymore. Who knew she had so many secret sins that were out of control, so she came and she committed and she changed. She started to lay her addictions, her habits, her lust, her porn, her alcohol, her dancing at the foot of the Cross. And Jesus began to heal her. And she wept.

Then I remembered I was going to have to blog about this. I began to say unkind things about my blog. I decided after about a half hour of bawling, I should try to get myself up even if I felt like nothing was resolved with God. And I wept.

I cried to Him, “What is the good news? Will my dancing only be redeemed on earth in a marital relationship?” “He’s going to have two left feet. I know it.” I sulked. Looking back I am starting to giggle. Why in heaven’s name would I care if my imaginary future husband can bust a move? I can. That counts for something. And I wept.

I asked God. “I am going to get to dance in heaven, right? You’re going to put me on a dance squad, aren’t You? I wanna dance for You. I want to samba! Is there samba in heaven? If there is no sex, is there samba?”

I think the good news is when I get to heaven, I am going to dance. I cannot right now. A half hour practicing by myself, and I began to think God should go away so I could do this instead of serve Him. Moderation does not come with dancing for me. It takes hours to be good. To be perfect. I can’t serve two masters.

A half hour of dancing creates two hours of crying. Because I am still crying. “Oh, God! Why can’t I dance and serve You at the same time!?” It is like alcohol. I should not have had any. All I want is more. I literally just had the thought, “If I cannot dance, why live?” No, I am not suicidal; but I am clearly not ready to start dancing again. I do not want to reap the harvest that planting that seed would produce.

Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life. Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. – Galatians 6:7-10If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It’s better to enter eternal life with only one hand than to go into the unquenchable fires of hell with two hands. If your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It’s better to enter eternal life with only one foot than to be thrown into hell with two feet. And if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out. It’s better to enter the Kingdom of God with only one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into hell, ‘where the maggots never die and the fire never goes out.’ – Mark 9:43-48


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