The Daddy-Daughter Dance

Inspired by...

Steffany Gretzinger’s song “We Dance” (lyric video for "We Dance")

and by my walk with my Father

I cowered in the corner enveloped in shame and fear, fear of what others thought and shame over who I had become and what I had done. No one would ever ask me out to the dance floor. How could anyone want to take my hand and share a dance with me? My heart was broken and wounded. Anger and bitterness held my soul captive. Striving to please and working to perform had driven me to a state of utter embarrassment and hopelessness. I didn't even know how to cry.

But then I heard it, a voice, his voice. In the middle of the loud music and the scattered voices, I heard that voice again. He called me always, ever so gently. I wanted to respond, but what was the point? People had called out to me before, and I had answered, only to be disappointed. But this voice was different. This voice whispered peace to me. This voice called me his child, his beloved daughter. His voice beckoned me. But he wasn’t asking me to dance. He was asking me to let him express his love for me, to let him heal me and renew me. The wounds were deep. The pain was real. The hurt caused my heart to ache. And yet he called me by name. And something in the way he said my name was...beautiful. I had resisted for so long. I had looked away, strived for approval, desired affirmation. Yet he called me and told me he didn't want anything from me. Instead he wanted to love me, to heal me, to call me his, to redeem me. I gave in. I yielded.

Yes, I yielded. And while the change wasn't immediate, his presence overwhelmed me and flooded me with love--true, genuine love. The wounds still hurt, but as he cleansed them, I felt a tenderness in his touch. While I cried in agony, his arms wrapped around me. I thought he'd immediately try to convince me to go out onto the dance floor, but I was wrong. Instead he held me in the corner. He held me. With his strong yet tender arms, he held me. And as I relaxed and let go, he began to heal me. He saw the anger and the bitterness, yet he didn't leave me. He saw the wounds of my past, yet he held me as I mourned. He saw the broken places, yet he didn't run away from me. His touch healed my soul. A transformation happened in that corner. He took what was left of me and somehow made me whole, beautifully whole. All the while, he called me daughter. I felt safe with him. When shame crept into my heart, he reminded me how valuable I am to him. When fearful thoughts flooded my mind, he delivered sweet peace to me. When I wanted to strive, he encouraged me to rest.

Then one day, he asked me to dance.

Dance? But I was so comfortable resting and experiencing healing in his arms, there in our corner of the dance floor. With promising eyes, he told me he had more for me.

Dance? But I didn't know how. With a gentle touch, he assured me I only needed to rest in him.

Dance? But I wasn’t strong enough. With knowing eyes, he gazed into my soul and promised me his strength.

But what if I didn't know the song? “My daughter,” he said, “it is the song I wrote for you.” Each note penned with me in mind. Each measure carefully selected for me.

But what if I fall? “But, oh my darling, what if you fly?” (original poem here)

And if the music quickens or the beat suddenly changes? “Let my peace set your pace.”

As we stood, I felt the soft touch of the dress, the dress he had clothed me in. As we walked to the center, I turned to the mirror to see the change he had wrought in me. Beautiful. Wounds cleansed and healed. Dress resting on my skin. Hair falling in soft curls. Beautiful. I looked into his eyes, the eyes of the one who had changed me, the one who had made me whole. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. As if he knew my thoughts, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Yes, my child, you are worth it.” With those words, I relaxed. With those words, tears came gently down my face, for I knew that the beauty I could see on the outside reflected the beautiful change he had created on the inside. And then it happened. I felt it….I felt beautiful.

There we were, at the center of the floor. No more striving. No more tension. Just me and him. With a kind touch, he placed my hand in his. The music began, the most beautiful of songs. He had captivated me. My eyes stared only at his. And then it began. The dance. As he moved, I followed. As he stepped, my feet knew the way. A tender yet strong dance. Then the beat changed. My arms tensed. My gaze dropped. Nervous. Anxious. But he whispered, “relax” and reminded me of his love. He assured me again that I was worthy. Gaze fixed on him, I received his peace and allowed his love to fill the space in and around me.

This dance, resting in his arms and allowing his movements to take me here or sway me there. This dance, moving to the rhythm of his heart. This dance, letting go of all else. This dance, the daddy-daughter dance I’ve always wanted. To be swept away, standing on his feet, surrendered to the tender strength only he maintains. Locking eyes with him, I fear nothing. His steady hand holds me upright. Motivated by his constant gaze and resting in the assurance that he sees me yet...yet he still loves me, I can go anywhere with him. Across the dance floor, up in his arms, through the hallways, into the streets. When he sets the pace, I follow...peacefully. Surrendered. Vulnerable. Focused. Enamored. Enthralled. Captivated.