Just Hang a Caution Sign Around my Neck

You may not know this, but I'm a dancer. Yessiree. I took classical ballet for many years when I was young . . . performed in “The Nutcracker” seven times, among other things, and on pointe, no less. I took dance as an adult in Hutchinson and in Sioux City, adding to my ballet repertoire some tap, jazz, modern . . . graceful as a swan, I am.

Which makes the last few days that much more aggravating.

I injured myself walking into my closet Saturday. I'm not even sure exactly how. I was looking in the bathroom mirror at something and walking toward the closet door; when I got close enough to go through the doorway, I turned my head toward where I was going and ended up whacking the left side of my body on the doorframe. My left hand was raised, for some reason, and so the edge of the door frame hit squarely on the back of my hand, leaving a good bruise. Seriously. I walked into a door frame.

But that's nothing on my earlier stunt. My youngest and the new dog were in the kitchen with me where I was getting some stuff done before lunch. I turned around, and there was the dog at my feet . . . only I didn't see him. I felt him, the fulcrum over which my body tipped as I face-planted on the tile of my kitchen floor. My knee whacked the floor good, and I had to sit with a bag of frozen broccoli on it for a while. No internal injury there, I don't believe, but it's darn painful, and it's gonna look good and ugly for a few weeks, I expect.

And no, the dog was not injured. Thanks for asking.

But even that has nothing on my stunt a couple days before that. I was bringing down the dog's crate from my youngest's bedroom where he has been sleeping (and sleeping well now – again, thanks for asking). Our stairway has a curve to it, and I was carefully manuevering so as to not bump the corners of the crate on the wall.

“Do you need help, Mom?” the daughter asked.

“No, I've got it – thanks,” I replied. Because I did.

Until my foot missed the edge of a step and I went sliding. Or actually, kind of lurching. I sort of fell forward onto the top of the crate – the bottom of which was on my foot (yeah, I'm not sure how that worked either) and the corner of which, or course, went right through the stairway wall I had been so deftly avoiding just seconds before.

Both girls came running, of course. They took the crate, bemoaned the gash in the wall, and worried over me appropriately, asking if I was okay. Yes, I'm fine, I told them. I just need to sit a minute.

I think I passed out. For real. The next thing I remember was my brain feeling like it was swimming and having no idea where I was or what was going on and feeling rather panicky. Seriously, folks – I fell on the stairs, didn't even hurt myself enough to bruise or anything (although I was a little achey for the morning), but I passed out? What's the physiological mechanism behind that?

But yeah – I'm a ballerina. Graceful as a swan when I dance. Just don't stand too close to me when I try to WALK.

Stage Fright

I've performed on stage in some capacity for most of my life, and stage fright has rarely been an issue for me -- nothing beyond general nervousness that ends up just getting the blood pumping in your brain. The only handful of real debilitating stage fright episodes I've had came later, in relatively recent years.

The first was during auditions for "Godspell" in 2006. They asked for volunteers to go first during the singing part of the tryout. I shrugged and stepped up there -- no big deal.  Until the music started and I looked at everyone staring at me, and suddenly, the muscles in my gut froze and I couldn't get any air. And of course, my brain partially shut down at the same time. I don't know what I sounded like, but I muddled through enough to have them listen to me again later when I was calmer. I was ultimately assigned a couple solos, so they were gracious to me.

The next time was when the dance ministry coordinator at Hope Church talked me into dancing a solo in a service. In theory, I was a little nervous but fine with this idea. Until I went to the church during the week before my performance day to practice on the "stage" floor. I suddenly found myself hyperventilating, stiffening up, my brain completely shutting down. I'd never experienced anything like that before and I panicked -- which, of course, made it all worse. A second practice day elicited the same results, and when Sunday morning came, I genuinely feared that I would totally fall apart up there in front of everyone. I didn't, but I was quite aware that the Spirit was doing this through me because I was completely incapable at that point.

Episode three was yesterday. When a couple weeks ago my BSF class had to sing our opening songs a cappella because nobody answered the call for an accompanist, I decided this was ridiculous and volunteered. It had been 15 years or so since I'd accompanied anything, but it was no-brainer stuff to me . . . or so I thought.  When I got the music the day before lesson day and started practicing, it started up again: the brain freeze, the fingers stiffening, one slip of the hand to the wrong spot and I was lost and couldn't get it back again. I debated calling her back and saying, sorry, maybe next time when I have more time to practice. But I muddled my way through, and it turned out just fine last night.

What I've been considering after this recent episode is why now? After so many years, why all of a sudden has stage fright cropped up into my experience?  Some things these episodes had in common: they all involved skills I had down pretty solid, but had not shared publicly with anyone for a long time (or in the case of the dancing, ever). They also all came after a significant point in my life as a "performer" -- a point I can't identify by time or place but by when I realized I'd passed it.

I was doing a monologue at Hope where I was a street person -- one I had to take on at the last minute with only a couple days of preparation. As I was trying on various scrungy clothes pieces, trying to get the right filthy look, it suddenly occurred to me: ten years ago, it would have KILLED me to go on stage looking this ugly. Ten years ago, my performances were about me looking good. I would never have said that -- I certainly didn't think in my heart that it was so -- but it was. Something had changed now. I actually had people after that street person skit tell me they didn't even know it was me up there. And that was perfect. My concern now was not about what they thought of me; my concern was now that God speak truth to them through me, that I become invisible, in a sense, and the message shine brightly.

And not until then did the Enemy attack me with the stage fright, which always feels more external to me than internal, weirdly enough. I remember hearing once that when the Enemy seems to be working overtime to get you, you must be on the right track. I guess there's some comfort in that. Even more comfort in God's record for speaking to his people more powerfully through my stage fright than any other time. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

My God Dances

When I think of you, I see you dancing -- you're dancing
When I think of you, I hear you singing for me . . .

So sings the African Children's Choir with Michael W. Smith on a CD in my car. The first time I heard the song, I thought it odd to think of someone dancing and singing for me. Maybe they do that in Africa, I considered. Around these parts, people don't dance and sing to show their emotions.

Then the chorus came and I realized these lyrics are not directed to another person, they're directed to Yahweh -- God. How about that! Now, honestly -- how many of you, when you think of God, imagine him singing and dancing? How many of you have ever, even once, pictured God singing and dancing? Seriously, take a moment: what does his singing voice sound like? Tenor, baritone or bass? Operatic, lyrical, or gruff rocker style? Does he dance with stiff form or shake his body with wild abandon?

Back when we lived in Springfield, Missouri, I went to a drama ministry conference in Branson, and part of the package was attending a show there . . . the name of which escapes me, but it was an elaborate and fabulous production of the life of Jesus. The guy who played Jesus had previously performed in the same production in Texas for several years, so he had done this show about a thousand times. He was one of those men who, if you saw him walking down the street, would make you do a double-take -- he just LOOKS like Jesus, at least how we picture him today.

It was a great show and he was a great actor, but the thing that affected me the most about his performance was the personality of the Jesus he portrayed. When he saw his disciples again after the resurrection, he ran to them, and grabbed them in a big hug -- none of this feathery, ethereal, see-through angel-like apparition we see in the movies. He was a real man, with real passion and a real love for these, his best friends on earth.

And during one scene (I believe it was the water to wine wedding scene), he joined the crowd in a traditional dance. It was amazing, seeing the Lord of Creation holding hands with random people, swinging around in a circle, smiling and laughing heartily, and dancing. Why don't we ever imagine God dancing?

How shallow and patchy is our acquaintance with God. And how pitiful that we are satisfied with that when our main purpose for being here is to know him, glorify him, and enjoy him forever.