Several months ago, I went with some friends to a tastefully decorated, comfortable country-western dance hall (aka., a honky tonk). My friend’s cousin was celebrating her birthday, and others swore this was the best place to learn all the country two-steps. So, I jumped on board and readied myself for some adventure. For the first hour or so, I sat on the sidelines and watched in disbelief. How did their feet move so fast? How did they cross the floor so easily? How did they know all the steps? I was overwhelmed.
But, I decided to lean into the discomfort and take a risk. I made my way out to the floor, stood behind someone who looked like she knew what she was doing, and struggled through. It was rough. I had to forget about everyone else on the dance floor. I had to stop comparing myself to those around me. I had to focus and celebrate the little steps I did conquer. This continued for a while with several dances. I felt myself gaining more confidence. I still messed up. I still probably looked quite uncoordinated and foolish, but I showed up, dance after dance.
As the music kept playing and the hour getting later, the dancers became fewer. That’s when my friend pushed me onto the floor with a guy we had all been watching. He was amazing! He knew all the steps. He never missed a beat. And there I was, standing before him. At first, I felt stupid. This will never work. I’ll only slow him down. But for a moment, I thought, “Maybe I can learn something from him. Maybe he’ll be patient with me and stick it out for the entire song.”
As all these thoughts soared through my head, I looked up at him (someone taller than me for the win!) and found a smile. He held his arms out ready to take mine. Somehow in the midst of my uncertainty, I managed to form the audible words, “I have no clue what I’m doing.” He kept smiling, leaned down, and replied, “That’s okay.” And then we were moving.
As we moved, he spoke the rhythm at just the right volume. After one round, he asked me if I was okay. He didn’t move into some complicated beat that would lose a beginner. He politely asked me if I wanted to change it up. He was sensitive to where I was at and how I was doing. Throughout the song, he consistently complimented me. I felt his confidence. He believed I could do this. As the song progressed, we moved faster. He spun me and dipped me. Before, I could only look at my feet and say the rhythm out loud, but by verse two of the song, we were having a conversation. Yes, I messed up. Yes, I lost the rhythm. Yes, I stepped on his toes. But he never once became frustrated. Instead, he paused, gave me a second, and we picked back up with the beat. I’ve never moved so fast across the dance floor. I’ve never felt so confident with my feet. I’ve never danced with someone who believed in me that much. His confidence in me propelled my own confidence to another level. He opened my eyes to the possibility that I could dance, not just my crazy moves to the dj’s mix but rather coordinated moves in time with another human being.
After our dance that night, I wanted to give him all the feedback that came to mind. Turns out, he’s a dance instructor by profession. No wonder. I’m glad others get to experience what I did.
Sometimes, I still think about that evening on the dance floor, and my connectedness strength can’t help but reflect on how dancing with that guy is much like dancing with God. For those who have read my post "The Daddy-Daughter Dance," you will know that I oftentimes liken my relationship with God to dancing. So here’s another aspect of that connection.
I get to partner with God. I stand across from him and sometimes feel like I have no clue how to take the next step. I feel so unsure, so out of place. But as my eyes meet his, I see a smile and hear him say, “That’s okay.” When we move, he whispers the rhythm that he knows fits me. With every turn, every change, he tells me that I’m doing fantastic, and I think, “Wow! I don’t feel like I’m doing anything but following you!” With his confidence in me, I feel ready, competent, invincible. I mess up, but he smiles, maintains eye contact, keeps his hand wrapped around mine, and we keep dancing. I don’t know if the honky-tonk dance teacher enjoyed his time on the floor with me. He seemed like he did, so I’ll go with that. However, I know for sure God delights in dancing with me. With him, it’s not about how fast we move or how far across the floor we make it. With him, mess ups don’t matter. With him, I don’t care who’s watching. With him, I’m learning that the beauty lies in our time together. He enjoys just being with me, and I can’t help but blush, sigh, and take another turn.
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