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[It's the creepiest thing: I haven't felt like writing lately. Ever since I moved out and consequently don't have to spend pointless hours in the library, I just don't feel like blogging. I've decided it's time to force myself.]
As many of you already know, I used to be an almost-professional ballet dancer. I moved out of my mom’s house on a Wednesday a few weeks ago, and on the following Friday God called me out of ballet and into full-time ministry. I had already received the call to ministry in April of this year, but hadn’t understood what it would look like in conjunction with dancing and being an orthopedic technician or Physician’s Assistant (two careers my mom desperately wanted me to pursue). So that Friday night, after having an incredible talk with Roy at the pier during Frontline, I went to the prayer room and told God I wasn’t leaving until He told me what I was supposed to do, because on the way back to the church after Frontline I had gotten a tiny glimpse at some change that was going to occur in my life, and I needed to know what it was.
Long story short, after an hour in the prayer room spent writing down the “heated discussion” that took place between God and me (I was the heated one), I emerged knowing exactly what He wanted me to do the next day: not go to ballet, and consequently, not be a professional dancer. Ever.
Oddly enough, I didn’t really miss it. I was a little bit scared; after all, I had spent the past sixteen and a half years of my life pursuing this dream, and now I was beign asked to just walk away and enter a world that I really knew precious little about- worship and women’s ministry (more on that later). But I trusted God, and I knew this was from Him; there was no mistaking that Voice.
It’s been three and a half weeks since I last danced. It feels like longer. I still don’t miss it in my day-to-day life; I’m so incredibly busy with ministry and adjusting to this new idea of a fluid, spontaneous schedule that I don’t have time to miss it. Until this past Wednesday night.
I went to InterVarsity large group at CalState San Marcos, as is my new usual Wednesday routine. We had two guest artists from Celebrant Singers do a presentation during the time we would have usually had the first set of worship, for which I was singing. I really don’t like it when worship time gets cut down, especially when I’m doing vocals, but I wanted to know what they were about anyway.
There was a violinist and a singer. The singer talked first, then the violinist. She played a song for God on her violin. It was a pas de deux from Swan Lake.
I cried.
The pain of my sacrifice hit me as soon as I heard the melody of that heartwrenchingly beautiful pas de deux. Reality slipped away as I was suddenly on stage, pointe shoes on, executing the flowing adagio under the bright white lights, with no sense of time or place; just me and the music.
I had to leave the room while she played, and for a short time after to compose myself. When she finished, the singer went back up and talked about following Jesus wherever He leads you. Everything spoke right into my heart. The momentary pain did not change the fact that God wanted me out of ballet, and it did not change my resolution to follow Him, no matter how crazy His plans seem.
I realized in that moment several things. First, that I hadn’t been missing ballet because I’d been avoiding it at all costs, which wasn’t too difficult considering it hardly ever intersects with the worlds of college and the church. Second, that my giving it up really was a sacrifice for God. I hadn’t thought of it as such because I hadn’t really felt any pain over it, but as soon as I was exposed to it again- nay, exposed to simply the music again- I broke down. Third, I remembered that following Him truly is worth sacrificing everything.
In place of dancing, my life is now filled with ministry. My plan now entails working with young women and worship. I have to start learning music theory, keyboarding, vocal techniques, and guitar (again). The fingers on my left hand are already pink and sore, but I can once again play the chords for “Marvelous Light” and sing it at the same time.
I was worried everyone was going to think I was crazy for quitting ballet. I’m fairly certain I already had somewhat of a reputation for craziness, so I expressed this hesitation to God that night in the prayer room. “This is what I’m known for, Lord!” You’re going to be known for Me now, He said. I’ll take that any day.
I don’t think I really care if people think I’m crazy anymore. As long as I know God’s in it, what people see really doesn’t matter. Besides, don’t you think the God of the Universe should be considered a little crazy? I mean, He did send His only Son to a rotten, sinful earth to die for all the scummy people on it. Sounds a little crazy to me.
October 23, 2008
Thank You for Your peace. Please let it guard my heart and mind completely, so that no doubts or guilt come in to steal my attention and trust from You.
You’ve got my attention. I am taking You completely seriously. I am not boxing You in- I can’t afford to. Move in whatever way You will. You said it would be a wild ride, and it is. You said You had a surprise, and You did. I believe You have more to surprise me with, something beautiful and blissful. I need to believe that. I need to believe in Your goodness, care, and power. I need to believe in Your grace, love, and healing. In Your heart for redemption and restoration. You comfort me beyond words. I am so in awe of this place You have brought me to.
Back to today…
Wow. That seems to be my word lately. What is it about that word that compels us to say it when we are in awe? I’m certainly in awe. God is speaking to me all over the place. In stinking Barnes ‘n’ Noble, for crying out loud! It’s beautiful. I am so excited. I bought “The Message//Remix: Pause” today, a cool unconventional Bible I’ve been desiring for about a year now. I can’t wait to dig in.
It’s funny how He works and relates to us on our level. He is speaking to me in exactly the ways He knows I will hear Him: through words of knowledge from a new mentor, through hidden meanings in everyday experiences, through sudden perfect opportunities. He has hedged me in front and behind, drawn me into the wilderness, and now speaks comfort to me (Hosea 2:6, 2:14).
I want to turn all of these experiences into some substantial writing, but I think I’m simply too in shock and would have to dig deeper into my heart than I am prepared to do in the middle of the MiraCosta library.
Soon, soon. I always deliver, dear Reader.
