Blog : Give Me Grace

I remember the stifling tension that took over the ballet studio the day a new choreographer visited. Walking into the studio and in place at the barre, a perpetual dream…the one where you apply for a job over and over again. Everyday was an audition. We’d make our way through a morning class of plies and tendus with the critical gaze of the ballet master upon us. I was looking for approval. Every cell in my body cried out for acceptance and I wondered…would I be chosen?

Being analyzed for mastery of technique was one thing..something you could, to some extent control. What you couldn’t control was whether or not you delighted the whimsical nature of a choreographer. Did your yellow leotard annoy, were you too short or tall, was there something about you that reminded him/her of a bad relationship. Because all those unnamed but tangible factors played a part in whether or not you were chosen. Your qualification was not guaranteed. It was relative and subjective. There were parts of the process you couldn’t control.

Back in the studio the choreographer would communicate a vision. Using words, a song, phrases of movement – we were expected to learn and perform combinations lightning fast. Let’s not forget…dance is about memory. Breathe, move and don’t forget. Being chosen was based on your performance…your ability to sync body and mind to create pretty shapes in a timely manner.

At days end, after class or rehearsal, we’d gather in chorus line fashion and wait for results. And taped, precariously on a wall or push pinned on a board were words that could change the course of your life. Getting the job meant keeping a contract, a consistent salary. Full time pay for a life time love and every little girls dream.

This dancers life was fleeting and fraught with uncertainty. You tight rope walked through choreography interpreting a perfection just out of grasp. Because it wasn’t real and it wouldn’t last. You lived your expendability every time you passed a studio full of younger dancers. The talented teens waiting at the door, in the wings for a chance…to be chosen.

Would you be chosen? Would you be cast as the star…the ultimate stamp of approval or would you be given a minor role. Would you be second cast? Would you be chosen at all?

The first time I danced as part of a ministry was the most liberating of my career. Taking my place amongst the dancers lined up in the small music studio it occurred to me I’d been chosen. Marked with His love, the only director that mattered sealed me with His approval. And His decision wasn’t based on performance.

In that tiny rehearsal hall…with never enough folding chairs, dusty walls and peeling paint, worlds away from the carpeted and cushioned seats of an opera house… it wasn’t about competition or try-outs. It was about Jesus. My best…me…offered as worship was more than enough. In His sight it was perfection.

The world judges us. We’re subjected to trends, stacked up against the latest and greatest.. The youngest and fastest. We spend a lifetime marinating in a pool of insecurity and wonder why as adults we emerge raw..still green…still tender.

Being a ballerina was my dream and I loved it but I wish I’d learned these lessons…let these truths loose as I twirled from studio to stage. Because you can’t fly if you let the world clip your wings. The world doesn’t think you’re good enough and demands a hefty price for its approval. The world encourages competition. Pits us against each other as rivals vying for position, status…a role.

But not God.

He calls us friend. Trusted companions, covenant confidants in the holy work of life. He chooses us. He doesn’t need us…He wants us. And for me, everything about that says yes.

*all images Flickr CC sektordua

an offering to Jennifer, Holley and friends