Hmmmm…EMPATHY. Watching it develop in children is a fascinating journey, as it is in adults.  Empathy carries a much heavier heart than sympathy. Sympathy requires a warm hug around the shoulders with an uttered “There, there” and then we move on. But empathy weeps when others weep, rejoices when others triumph, and shares the same tears in angst or joy.

Some children are born feeling the struggles of others. From the time they can sit up, they cry when they see others cry, they are keenly aware of cruelty and injustice towards others, they cannot rest until all is right with the world. Other young children seem to have no problem watching another child fall down; perhaps they even giggle. They have not yet suffered significant pain or sadness in their young lives, or at least not enough to feel badly for someone else who is experiencing it. Perhaps they don’t yet realize that their lives are meant to be integrated with the world around them. Maybe they don’t realize anyone other than Mom or Dad cares about them, so they haven’t yet learned to care about others. Or, perhaps they are unaware that their effort to give comfort to someone else’s hurting heart is helpful or noticed. Whatever stage of emotional development the child is in, it is known they learn much of their social development and family dynamics from the examples that are set in the home.

            I was reading a story to a preschool class of four-and-five-year-olds. The story contained hopes, fears, presumptions, anger, sadness, and a happy resolution – all adult topics, but they were expressed on a preschool level by imaginary talking animals. The reactions on the young faces as I read through the story were as colorful as the illustrations in the book. Some of the children smiled when the kitties got angry at the dog, some laughed out loud when the big white dog tumbled down the stairs and whimpered. 

But there were also other reactions. There were shocked gasps when the kitties tried to scratch the dog, there were panicked faces and even a few tears when the dog fell down the stairs, and there were triumphant smiles of relief when the animals became close friends at the end.

Empathy is developmental, but some children carry a more passionate burden for each other that follows them through to adulthood. Other kids may appear to react with less emotion, but they become more involved in the “whys” and “hows” to solve different issues. The talents are different, crucial, and expressed in a myriad of individual actions, but all expressions of empathy can be birthed from the atmosphere presented in the home.

There was one little boy in the preschool class who ignored the bell to line up at the end of recess to come inside. He was called out several times, but he ignored the bell, much to the teacher’s frustration. But then we saw it. We all saw it. Another child had fallen down, and this little boy was compelled to help her. He ignored the teacher, accepted that there may be consequences, and had to help a crying friend.

Empathy.

By the way, there were no consequences.

Learn from the kids.

            I did an unexpected thing today. I have a garden bed on the side of my house that has received little to no attention since May. It is now October. For some reason, I thought I should take a peek at it when I got home from the grocery store. I assumed there would be a lot of weeds poking up through the mulch, so as I was walking around the house I had already  decided to do a little maintenance tomorrow before the weeds grew out of control.

            Too late. Way too late. I was shocked. The garden bed had become a tropical rain forest. There were 7-8 ft trees with huge leaves that could have clothed Adam and Eve for a year. The stalks, or trunks, of these monstrous weeds were about 3 inches in diameter, and whatever bushes or flowers that my husband had once planted were completely hidden if they were even alive anymore.

            How could I have let this happen?! Everything looked great in the spring. Mulch had been spread, all weeds and clover were gone, and I had planned on planting some easy-care flowers and shrubs.

            I leaned over and pulled out a few blades of overgrown grass in the front of the bed, and they easily came out with the roots. Hmm…not bad. I pulled out a few more. At least I could neaten up the front and then ask a friend to help with the wild trees. I got some hedge clippers from the garage and chopped a few manageable branches. I wouldn’t do too much. Snakes could be lurking and ready to chomp me.

            I kept chopping and yanking, chopping and yanking. Okay, I can do a bit more. I got the shovel and tried to dig up the root of one of the trees. It actually started to give, so I kept pulling. Yikes! The root was coming out, but instead of being a complex network of many roots, it was one huge root that was about 4 ft. long! It felt so good to get that thing out that I started on another tree. If I had known I was going to be performing surgery in the garden I would have taken before pictures.

            After a couple of hours, I finally got all the weeds and trees cleared out. Then there, in the corner, all by itself, was a lone, large, deep red rose at the top of a very tall stalk. It had received very little sunlight all summer, no nurturing, no watering except for an occasional light rainfall, yet out of the darkness and choking weeds, the original thing of beauty continued to grow. It was still there, waiting to be found. All I had to do was rediscover it.

            How many of us forget to tend our dreams and our original purpose before we allow the weeds of life to cover them up? The weeds get so thick, and the roots go so deep that we forget the beauty and intent that was put within us in the first place. If God planted the seed, the plant is still there, but we let the size of the weeds scare us away. We talk ourselves out of uncovering our gifts and remembering who we are.

            Life is hard. Life can be harsh. Life certainly has unexpected events that cause us to divert our focus for a time. But we can also expect to find the treasure God planted within us when we take a deep breath, get the shovel, and dig out the weeds.

            Dance on.

What do you do at the end of a long day at work, and you’re ready to head out the door and go home? Does your energy wane, or do you rev up in anticipation of seeing someone you love, your comfortable chair, and a warm meal; perhaps you have fun plans with some friends that gives you a second wind?

What if you’re waiting and anticipating someone else’s arrival home? Do you start watching the clock, or maybe start peeking out the window, even listening for the garage door to open or a key turning in the lock? Anticipation for the comfort, security, and love that is waiting after a hard and long day has a way of reviving our energy and strength.

When the day is over at the preschool where I teach, I love to watch the little faces of the children as they file out the door to the pick-up area. They are eagerly and hopefully searching the crowd for the familiar face that they know loves them so much, whether it’s Mom or Dad, maybe Grandma or Grandpa, sometimes a much-admired big sister. The children carefully walk down the slate steps with their heavy backpacks bouncing up and down, some of them beginning to look a bit apprehensive if they don’t immediately see the someone who is there just for them.

But then, one by one, like stars appearing in the twilight sky, little faces light up, they dump their heavy backpacks on the sidewalk behind them, and they go racing out to waiting hands that pluck them out of the air and hold them close. They eventually retrieve their backpacks and start to empty out their cares of the day: their artwork, their triumphs, their boo-boos, their tears, their giggles – all of it comes rushing out of their hearts as they work their way home, because they are so aware that the people who love them think they are important and significant.

God uses little ones such as these as examples of how He wants us to come to Him, without fear, perfect trust, and dropping our burdens from our backs to leap into His arms. He wants our faces to eagerly and expectantly be searching for Him. He wants us to tell Him everything – what we’re excited about, our desires, our hopes, what is scaring us, what we are furious about, what disappointed us today. He already knows, but He wants to hear our heart, because He is our most trusted confidante, and He wants us to let Him carry that heavy burden we’ve been lugging. He even knows we may get so very angry at Him from time to time. I see the kids sometimes wail in protest at their parents when things aren’t going the way they expect or the way they want. But Mom and Dad love them desperately, no matter what tantrum must be endured in the car ride home and what words are spewed at them, because their job is to do what their children need at the moment.

God wants us to be as excited to see Him every day as the children – to come to Him with every care, every story, every fear, everything that is in our heart, even if we’re throwing a tantrum in protest over what is happening. He wants us to tell Him because He wants us to trust Him, and we are very significant to Him. He’s not far away, even when we are apprehensive that we’re not seeing Him. However, He’s always ready and waiting to pluck us up as we race to tell Him about our day. He knows we may throw a tantrum now and then…He does know, and He loves us always, no matter what words we spew at Him in protest.   

“Let the little children come to Me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to those who are like these children.” – Matthew 19:14

Dance on.

            This is not about what the title suggests. This was the tearful presumption of a little boy who really believed that his place of security and comfort had been taken away. 

In my preschool class, I was working with several children at a time in what we call the “dramatic play” area. This is where little ones learn to process interactions with each other while engaging in everyday make-believe situations, such as being in the grocery store, working in a bakery, putting together a birthday party, making and selling pizza, etc. Chatter was lively and enthusiastic, and I love listening as they express their imaginations into the scenarios that they think they hear from adults. It’s entertainment for me. After all, calling an area in a preschool a “dramatic play” area is a bit redundant; what four-year-old needs to learn how to be dramatic? Joking aside, they do learn conflict resolution, forethought, organization – all the things that we adults need to return to preschool for and get a crash course.

One particular day, a little girl came over to me from her writing station and proudly presented me with a gift that she had drawn. I made the appropriate fuss over her generosity and amazing skill, gave her a giant hug, and she went back to her writing table to finish her rotation.

As I turned my attention back to the dramatic play, real drama had begun. I noticed one little guy who had been working with me was sitting in the corner, his tiny face to the wall, he was curled up like a beetle, and was crying his eyes out. I ran over to him, afraid that I had messed up and failed to notice an injury. I knelt down next to him and asked if he had gotten hurt. He said no (still digging his face into the corner), so I asked him what was wrong. Without turning to face me, he replied, ”You’re not my friend anymore.” So I said, “Are you mad at me? What did I do to upset you?” His sobbing reply was, “She gave you a picture and you hugged her, and now she’s your friend and not me!”

Now my heart was breaking. This sweet little boy had yet to grasp the concept of unconditional, steadfast love. He still felt he had to earn love and acceptance and had somehow blown it, because someone else obviously beat him to it.

I think we all take our finite and limited perceptions of relationships and turn them into erroneous truths. We base our knowledge and emotions on our presumptions that create hurt feelings and epic grudges.

God never plays favorites. God does not have a favorite child, nor does He base His love on what we bring to Him, how we act, or what boxes we have checked off on the list. The sad little boy in my class was afraid that he had to do something special or find the secret to being accepted and loved. He thought he had lost his place. When I finally was able to assure him that he was still as treasured as before, his behavior and tearful face immediately changed and reflected his new-found security and joy in belonging. Children are sensitive and can have their feelings hurt quickly, but thankfully, they have not yet learned the dubious art of holding a grudge. That is a self-taught skill that we seem to develop as we mature. We cut ourselves off from people because of adult grudges. We lose the secure sense of closeness and belonging because of adult grudges. We even cut ourselves off from God because of adult grudges. There is a reason God says to come to Him as a child.

My little friend is still an emotional, dramatic, mischievous, four-year-old boy. I don’t think he’ll have a major spurt in maturity this school year. He still has so much to learn, even before he reaches five years old. But he did give me a crash course on God’s unconditional, steadfast, secure love, and he doesn’t even know it. I watched his despair when he thought he had been cut off, and I saw his relief, joy, and comfort when he discovered he was still loved and treasured, no matter what. I saw myself in him, and he taught me to see God more clearly. 

 We need adult preschool.

Dance on.

            In my preschool class, two little boys were beginning to ramp up to a full-blown fight. Although they were not the very best of friends, they generally got along and were able to play together quite well. However, one particular day, things were different.

We were conducting an all-day, preschool level science experiment: Which block of ice will melt faster; the one covered with rock salt, or the one with nothing? Of course, the results were a bit inaccurate, because tiny hands were constantly “massaging“ the ice throughout the day; the control group was …well, out of control. The two boys, one with bouncy blonde curls and the other with a broad smile and very fair skin began to insist on owning their only correct answer; their difference of opinion soon hit decibel levels reserved for the playground. Blonde curls started to bounce like a hot pot of popcorn, and fair skin turned feverishly red. Tears began to flow profusely as yelling quickly escalated to high pitched screams, and two pairs of tiny hands balled up into weapons of mass destruction. The rest of the class began to retreat and take cover as the two boys loudly declared, “You’re stupid! I hate you!” as their parting shots. I felt like I was watching the six o’clock news report on current events.

I took each boy by the hand and led them (dragged them) to the other side of the room. Both had hurt feelings, both were so very angry and insulted, and perhaps a bit scared that their anger got so far so fast. And both boys were one big bucket of stubborn.

Here is the chat we had:

Me: “You both are sure that you are right. So, what do you think is more important: a friend you can have for life, be the best man at your wedding and maybe be the godfather of your very first child? Or a block of ice that will be nothing more than a sloppy mess at the end of the day?”

Blonde Curls: (with head down) “A friend for life”

Broad Smile: “A fwend, I guess” (head down but stealing a peek at Blonde Curls)

Me: “Look each other in the eye and say one thing you like about your friend”

Blonde Curls: ”I like your shirt.”

Me: “Wrong answer. It has to be about him and why you like having him in your class.”

Broad Smile: “You are kind and funny.”

Blonde Curls: “You’re kind and funny too.”

Both boys: giggle giggle giggle

Me: “I would like to see you shake hands with your friend while looking right at his face.

and say, ‘I’m sorry for yelling at you.’ Or you can hug; it’s your choice.”

Both boys: Big smiles, big hugs, and very giggly “I’m sorry, I forgive you!”

Gee, adults never act like these two little boys, do we? Oh, we may vehemently share our displeasure, or we agree to disagree while thinking the other person is too ignorant to know any better, but we certainly don’t act like children. Do we?

As we grow and hopefully mature, why do we lose our grasp on what is truly important? Obviously, it’s crucial to stay true to our convictions, but aren’t our convictions meant to reflect our heart for the betterment of each other? Instead, we tear each other apart to prove our point. Romans 15:1-2 says “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up.”

Hmmm…another translation says “We who are strong must be considerate of those who are sensitive about things like this. We must not just please ourselves.”

I don’t know about you, but it seems to me that there has not been a lot of bearing with others, or even being considerate of those who are sensitive, easily hurt, weak, or afraid.

Those two little boys became much closer friends that day. They’re only four years old, so they still clash occasionally, but they were riding high on their closer relationship. Until they forgave each other, they never realized what joys of relationship were hiding behind the wall of anger and stubbornness that they had put up between them. Our country even has two former Presidents from opposite parties who discovered how much they loved and respected each other and enjoyed working together as best friends. One of them has passed away; what a tragedy it would have been if they had never discovered the gem of friendship between them.

There are some very serious issues between people that a few giggles and hugs won’t resolve. But these sweet little preschool boys demonstrated the feelings we all have of needing to be heard and validated. And loved.

God always hears us, and validates us, and loves us. The Bible says to come to God as a child. That doesn’t mean with a childish temper. It means with a childlike pure desire to love and be loved. Come as a child and take delight in all God has given us in each other. God is always increasing, the same way that the universe, which He created, is always expanding. That means all He has for us is always increasing, and if we only look within, we will miss it. We will end up missing all.

Dance on.

Out of their innocence, little children are so profound and often wise. One day, when preschool classes were over, I was waiting with one last little boy for his mother to pick him up. We were standing at the edge of the parking lot where there were still many remaining tempting little piles of filthy snow and ice leftover from a previous storm. This little boy was bored, so he pulled his knitted hat down over his eyes and proceeded to climb, blind, on a large ice hill, yelling, “Hey, look at me!” As I ran over to him to pull his hat off of his eyes, saying, “That’s not safe, you need to get down,” he called out, “No, no, It’s okay! I trust you!”

Wait…WHAT?? The other parents standing around caught the humor and laughed, and so did I; but there was something so much deeper in what he said. How wonderful to know that someone who loves you is always, unfailingly, in control and won’t let anything bad happen to you, no matter what mistakes you make or what you want to try.

Yes, how wonderful, and yet, dangerous. I was so warmed by the fact that he thought he could trust me, even though he hopped over the border into presumption. I am only human and can only leap so far to catch a child in mid-air. However, I thought, “Do I have the capacity to have the faith of a child and trust that blindly? One minute this little boy will say he loves me with an angelic smile and spontaneous hug. Five minutes later I have to pull him out of the classroom into the hallway to deliver a stern lecture on why he can’t hit other kids. He starts to cry and yell at me that I’m not being fair, because “that other boy was playing too long with the red car after the timer went off!” Then, later that afternoon he decides to climb Mount Freeze-and-Fall while blindfolded because he knows I love him and will save him.

Wow, he has such confident love. Do we?  Do we know that we are loved back unconditionally, even when we have just showered our anger onto the one we trust? No, no, it’s okay. Does that cute little boy trust me?

Somehow, when we become adults, we presume that when our own plans don’t work out, or when life presents more closed doors that opened ones, it’s because nobody cares, we’re all alone, and the world is nothing but a horrible place that constantly seeks to knock us down. We can’t trust anyone. Maybe, sometimes, our great ideas, like climbing blindly on an ice hill, are not so great. Maybe our protests amid crying and shaking our fist at God show that we don’t know the end of the story.

When I was a child, I protested with many tears when I was told “no.” When my own children were growing up, they also protested quite loudly when their dad and I said “no.” Even now, as we go through our lives we protest vehemently when God says ”no.” I guess we feel we don’t need guidance anymore and should be allowed to make our own decisions. Partly true. We do make our own decisions, but when things don’t work out we blame other people. Proverbs 3:12 says, “For the Lord corrects those He loves, just as a father corrects a child in whom he delights.” Hebrews 12:6 says, “For the Lord disciplines those He loves and punishes each one He accepts as a child.” Unfortunately, we have developed an odd philosophy that entitlement shows love and denying our children nothing is more nurturing than teaching them the reality of life

None of us wants to be controlled or denied by the time we reach adulthood. But God’s motives in His discipline are strictly to bring us up to our full potential. There is no question that we can trust His love, even when we do something stupid. Hey, if you feel strongly that God told you to climb on the ice with your hat over your eyes, then He will see you through it. I knew for certain that my kids would fall down often as they learned to walk, but they had to go through it (with child-guard cushions on sharp corners). I still loved them desperately as they learned, even though they had to get some bumps and bruises. The only way to learn balance is to lose it occasionally.

God also knows for certain we will fall as we navigate the path He has set before us. And just like the curly-headed moppet in my class, no matter what icy hill I’m climbing, blindly, I know that if God put it there, I can say, to Him, “It’s okay! I trust You!”

Dance on.

When I was in the eighth grade, I walked into my Life Science class on the first day of school, and in the middle of the orange lab table was a candle that had been lit, the flame waving back and forth as we all took our seats and waited to hear what the teacher had to say. She had turned out most of the lights so that the candle would be the focal point, and then she said, “All scientific hypotheses begin with an observation. What you see in the first ten seconds is never the whole picture and never the end of possibilities. On this first day, some of you have already decided if you love science or hate it, and some are indifferent. So you have thirty minutes to observe, analyze, and find as many things as you can about this lit candle. You can walk around it, touch it, pick it up, do whatever you want, but write down everything that you discover.”

 I found over fifty things that were unique about the candle and its flame. There were properties that it innately possessed and things it could do (or couldn’t) with a little manipulation and push. There were many things that revealed themselves just by watching for a few minutes. One of my favorite findings was that unless deliberately extinguished, the flame never got smaller, was never hesitant, and the brightness never diminished. Even when I picked up the candle and turned it upside down for a moment, the flame was unrelenting.

When dancers start out, full of anticipation, expectations, and encouragement, that flame of passion and inspiration has been ignited, and it’s high and bright. Everyone sees only opportunities ahead, and the future looks wonderful.

Let’s cut ahead a few decades. If the dancer had eventually progressed into the performing arena, the inevitable transition into the world of “used to be” can be a bit more intense for some; it’s more than simply bittersweet. Many dancers seem to catapult into unrelated careers, perhaps a hidden dream, and they turn joyfully to a whole new chapter. Others snuggle into a relaxing, yet wistful departure and are happy to remember those wonderful years of dancing, but they’re relieved to take it easy on those overused and abused feet!

Then there’s another category. There are those who feel that a portion of their life has been torn away, and that their waning career does not coincide with their flame which is still burning. 

There’s an interesting similarity to my eighth-grade science class. Even when the career of a dancer (or anyone who is passionate about what they do) is turned upside down, that flame does not diminish. Others who are looking on for that brief ten seconds may assume and presume that a dancer just “waltzes” through to retirement and goes on to something else with an attitude of “Oh well, that was fun.” But unless deliberately extinguished, that flame is still hot, bright, and capable of producing heat. With a little extra push and manipulation, that flame continues to burn and light other wicks without diminishing itself. But that isn’t apparent right away. And here’s another observation about the candle in eighth grade: As the candle burned down, the flame stayed the same size, becoming larger in proportion to the base it started with.

This tells me that the inevitable wearing down and aches and pains of the body have nothing to do with the flame’s ability to ignite someone else’s life. The performing and execution of the dancer’s technique is the top layer of the candle, but the real heat of the flame is that blue light closest to the wick. That doesn’t diminish. Others may tell you that when dancing, or life, becomes more of a struggle, or when things become challenging, or when they are turned completely upside down, it’s time to stop and do something else. No, it’s not. If your flame is still the same size, just as bright, just as hot, then you still have the ability to provide some light into a dark room or light someone else’s candle. We are trained from childhood to be tenacious; use that for such a time as this.

By the time we finally die, many other flames will have been lit from the one candle, just like the candles on a Hanukkah menorah, or the candles at a Christmas Eve service—one lit candle lights the one next to it, and on down the line.

Just like the candle, burn, ignite, inspire, illuminate, and in the best way you can,

 Dance on. 

            I love snow. I don’t mean that I casually enjoy the look of snow-covered trees with their heavy branches cascading over icy, winding streams which wriggle through a forest of quiet serenity. Nope. I mean I love blizzards, white-outs, twelve inches or more, shoveling the driveway (I don’t know why I like doing that; I’m not going anywhere), feeling my fingers and toes grow numb then warming up in front of a fire with my hands wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa. Then I love to stomp my way through a long walk of unplowed streets, shoveling the driveway again (in case of emergency, of course), having more hot cocoa, then doing it all over again!

            So, imagine my excitement and anticipation when I found out that we might get one to three inches of snow by morning! Then, (oh happy day!) I saw an errant snow flake this morning (I am quite sure I really did) while I sat in my car at a stop light!

            Ok, cut to the dance studio. I was watching my classes yesterday as they conscientiously worked their way through barre and center, and I felt so proud of how far they have come, even since September. I remember clearly when each one of them came to me for their very first ballet class; I had no idea where it would all lead.

            In the midst of this reverie, I met a new student who came in to take her first class in Ballet 1. She was timid, shy, not sure where to go, her eyes flitting back and forth as she tried to listen to what I was saying and take in the new atmosphere.

            Then it hit me. This little eight- year-old was like that first snow flurry of the season. Actually, that entire Ballet 1 class carries with them the excitement and anticipation of what could be. All of my advanced and professional dancers are the promised blizzard that I love to be immersed in. It’s true that often a sudden onslaught of new students can peter out like a brief snow shower that had looked promising at the start. Sometimes that snow ends as a dusting, and sometimes we get that longed for twelve inches or more. No matter the outcome, each snowflake and dancer is unique and beautiful by itself or in a group. I am always thrilled to see them come, wistful to see them go, then eagerly expectant for the next possibility!

            Last year I had a new student who had recently moved up from the south. She had never seen snow, and she was thrilled at the sight of our first snowfall. Before that first flake hit the ground, this kid was squealing and bobbing up and down with excitement, her eyes focused on the sky with anticipation of what to expect.

            That’s what it’s like, or should be, to see every new student who walks through the door. With each new dancer, we hope for a blizzard of more of them to accumulate, hopefully bringing the world to a standstill while everyone admires and appreciates the beauty, the uniqueness, and the stillness of watching the creation of something new.

            Each new dancer may come and stay with the other dancers for a long time, and sometimes new dancers blow away with the wind. But witnessing the beauty and change in the world as a result of the creativity and potential that comes with every dancer is still worth the excited squeals of anticipation.

            So, guess what…snow is in the forecast! Bring it on!

Dance on

At this time of year, as we approach New Year’s Eve, everyone is talking about new beginnings. A brand new year makes people think about a fresh start. A blank slate. A second chance. A do-over.

I don’t want a do-over, and I don’t think I even want a new beginning. A do-over takes away the significance of everything I’ve already done; that could be good, or that could be bad, because it would allow me to make the same mistakes. A new beginning carries with it a type of blind naivety or wide-eyed wonderment that makes one eager to take it all in but forget to hang on to what was gained and learned. I think what I really want is a new chapter in the same book. 

Everyone’s life is an adventure story. Think about your favorite novel or most exciting movie. There’s action, suspense, love, heartache, pain, joy, tears, fear – How could STAR TREK be complete without confrontations with the Romulans or Klingons, as well as Captain Kirk’s love affairs with alien women? How could STAR WARS exist without the evil of Darth Vader and the strength, righteous convictions, and beauty of Princess Leia? GONE WITH THE WIND would not be the iconic book and movie without the love story of Scarlett and Rhett, along with the burning of Atlanta. Every story is complete only because of the entire range of experiences and emotions. A new beginning will not be free of strife and turmoil, but a new chapter is a continuation of a life’s story that has been unfolding and developing over time. The time is what builds strength into the lead character, you. Your story develops throughout everything that happens after your original beginning. That favorite novel of yours keeps your attention because of the rise, fall, and entire spectrum of emotions that you can identify with.

New beginnings and moving forward is certainly not a new concept; I’ve written about it before as well as many others. But as time continues to chug along, I find that I don’t want to move on as someone new and different; I want to start a new chapter in the story that God has already written for me. Chapters in adventure stories don’t make sense without all the other chapters that go before them. If they did, they would simply be a compilation of unrelated short stories. Those have new beginnings every few pages; the stories are all wrapped up within a few pages before you get too immersed and committed. Some people may view this as nothing more than a different perspective, but I really think it’s more than that. A new beginningmeans the past is over, done, and that’s that. However, a new chapter is based on information and events that have influenced and led up to the present. I don’t ever want to turn my back on what I have experienced, no matter how horrible some of it may have been. I don’t think I could pull off that kind of lie to myself anyway. Psalm 119:29 says “Keep me from lying to myself; give me the privilege of knowing Your instructions.” I want to learn as I go, not learn just for the sake of directionless activity. I want to learn in order to build, form, mold, and become the person I was created in the beginning to be, not “start-over-brand-new” every few years. We are all supposed to become more as the years go by  –  to have more facets, more color, more depth, more capacity to receive so that we have more to share and give. I don’t want to slowly fizzle and fade away as I get older. No one should. 

A friend of mine shared a wonderful quote by Erma Bombeck. It says, ‘When I stand before God at the end of my life I would hope that I have not a single bit of talent left, and I could say: ‘I used everything You gave me.’”

You don’t have a chance to use all your talent to its limit if you’re always starting over. I don’t want my life to be a series of short stories. I want my life to be a big fat book that doesn’t say THE END until it really is.

Dance on.

            One of the things I find so intriguing about young children is their unabashed ability to say and do whatever is on their minds with absolutely no forethought nor restraint. Even when they are being reprimanded for inappropriate behavior, they don’t seem to be embarrassed; they just wonder why everyone else is upset.

            My latest lesson that I learned from my preschool class took place on the playground. One little boy discovered that it was SO MUCH fun to run up to a particular little girl and roar as loudly as he could right in her face. It scared her to pieces, she cried pitifully, and eventually she started running for cover as soon as he looked like he was about to approach. The “roar-er” was persisting and not responding in the least to our usual teacher intervention, and the “cry-er” was more afraid than ever. So, I tried another approach. I told her that the next time the roar-er unleashed his self-proclaimed power at her, she should just put her little hands on her hips, open her mouth, and roar back with every bit of strength that her tiny body could muster. 

            So we waited. It didn’t take long. The roar-er saw her standing alone, and he decided to make his move. He opened his mouth and began to unleash a sound that could send God’s angels racing up to heaven. The other teacher and I called out to the cry-er, “Do it! Do it now!”

And she did. Her adversary may have increased his decibels, and she may have momentarily flinched, but then she decided she was done being scared; our little hero screamed and screamed, and screamed some more, right into his face, with her newly discovered strength. Then, it happened. The little roar-er was completely caught off-guard, he looked very disappointed, and then he slinked off to play another game. Our little cry-er was now our little victor, and she looked as surprised as the roar-er…but not nearly as disappointed. As a matter of fact, she looked quite pleased with herself. She then grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go get’em!”

             If we had been waging a war against tyranny and oppression, I definitely would have joined her to dispel the enemy. However, our roar-er is not an enemy; he’s an adorable little four-year-old boy who has as much to learn about life and how to become a five-year-old as the rest of the class. So we had to have a little talk about learning to be friends and stop a fight, not how to start one! But the lesson she learned (along with several other shy classmates) is that the roar of her fears has no more power than what she allows them to have. Her own roar of victory and confidence carries so much more strength than she ever imagined.

            Do you have monsters and roaring dragons in your life that cause you to turn and run as their shadows approach, even before they reach your doorstep? I certainly do. I think we all do. Their roars and threats conjure up our own perception of undefeatable dragons. However, the only thing that really is strong is the sound of their voice. Their power is no match for the real power and confidence that God has made available to us. Our experiences are stronger. The support of our friends and family is stronger. Sometimes, our dragons may wear down and retreat, and sometimes they will continue to roar until the bitter end. But they will never win as long as our integrity, character, and faith remain intact. As long as our love, joy, peace patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are at least a part of who we are, the dragons’ roars are just…well, loud.

            So, look those dragons squarely in the face, put your hands defiantly on your hips, and roar your head off in the face of the dragon. The dragons are just loud shadows that begin to get shorter as the light gets brighter; God’s truth in you is the real strength that speaks in the silence.

Dance on.