Ballet
Because I have not been long asking your forgiveness, you swirl in a thin neon ballerina skirt, chafed toes grasping dust
disturbed by your turning's mesmerizing flickers
on pointed feet, because you choose to not understand my wrongs; you
tear open your heart, spilling it on the floor as your hair
cascades like a misted river dripping dew down
your back, making the bones above your eyes glisten with pearls
of sweat, because sweat is the only thing that can whisper comfort to
your blistered heart festering from your toes; my mistakes pour
from your outstretched fingers, because your fingers are
the only vessels with which you can still create beauty
from the gnawing, teething tiger ripping your organs into
pirouettes and tondues that point and pivot around
the problem, which at the same time address it directly
in ways that words mockingly dance around,
because verbalizing my sins only
wrangles your heart further.
I have no author's note, just a ballet final this Wednesday. I've also been thinking about pain lately. Probably because I stapled my finger a few days ago, but mainly because a girl in my class gave a speech thanking pain, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head. Kathrine Kuhlmann, here's a shout out. It really affected me. I don't believe pain and beauty are things mixed together that we should try to separate, but rather that pain produces beautiful things. There's countless songs about it. Whether or not we realize it, I believe society recognizes the importance of pain, we just approach it with our selfish motives and find-strength-within-yourself mentality. It's fascinating really. Sit down with some hot tea sometime and try to read the lyrics without the catchy, four-chord progression playing menacingly in the back of your head:
Woke up late today and I still feel the sting of the pain, but I brushed my teeth anyway.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Ba de ya, dancin' in September.
I typed that last one because it's what the dorm next to me is blasting. But seriously, what would the flowing form and breathtaking movements of ballet be without the blisters and torn muscles behind them? And where would we be if Christ didn't suffer through our pain? That's the one that gets me. Christ wants me to hand him the pain I am clinging to, the very thing that's hurting me, in order to make it into something beautiful. It's like I'm hanging onto a thread dangling over a lake of piranhas when He wants to embrace my quivering body, delicately hold my lone, feeble thread and fuse it into tapestry He is weaving. I just have to let it go.
This is why I feel so close to God every time I slip on my worn, canvas ballet shoes. Every tear in them represents a thread of pain I have given to Christ. My heart is mended through His gentle fingers weaving them into the plan that He is creating for me when I let go of my puny thoughts of what my life should be. And when I apply the grace I learn through dance to everyday life, every movement throughout the day becomes a piece of gratitude I can hand back to the one who created the capacity for the plans He has beyond what I can imagine.
But
it’s been no bed of roses. No pleasure cruise – I consider it a
challenge before the whole human race. And I ain’t gonna lose. - See
more at:
http://www.thebridgemaker.com/10-motivational-songs-to-keep-you-moving/#sthash.shj9IXID.dpuf
