I love dancing….and I am a terrible dancer. If this wasn’t obvious in high school- it was very obvious when my friends began to get married and I realized I have approximately two “moves” which both get laughed at by my closest people. It’s totally okay-I can admit this. As much as I enjoy dancing, there’s only three kinds I really love: kitchen dancing, ballet (when it tells a story), and slow dancing.  There’s a reason. A good one, I think. I love dancing because it’s my unspoken reminder to my very broken, pain-filled body, that it can still reflect joy.

I’ve wrestled more and more over pain as I’ve gotten older. Perhaps because it’s not going away. Don’t’ hear me shaming, hear me processing: I’ve just realized that it feels like my body cannot do much good. I often wish I had a new one; one that didn’t hurt so much, wasn’t filled with disease, one that could do more.

Similarly, in this processing, I’ve discovered that I value more and more the good my body can do: it can hold, it can hug, it can kiss, it can dance, it can serve- and so I try to do these things more. I try to remind my heart that this broken body can still do good things.

Thankfully, I grew up in a home that prioritized a relationship with the Lord- and I deeply value mine. I’ve been in pain for almost 12 years, and in that time, I haven’t really struggled with wondering why He would let me be in pain- until recently. Within this last year and a half I have asked more questions to Him then I ever had about my pain. Again, perhaps it’s because the pain doesn’t seem to be going away, and if anything, getting harder to cope with. But in the process of asking the Lord hard questions, and wrestling with the answers, I have imagined this scene in my head that, for me, greatly reflects our relationship:

It’s like a dance. When I was a child, I used to stand on His feet. But as I got older, I learned how to dance with Him- with my feet on the ground. And the problem was not that I wanted to dance with Him, it was that I wanted to lead– and when I couldn’t lead, like an immature child, I just wouldn’t dance.

I’m learning how to trust that no matter how painful this nasty RSD gets, it is completely safe to dance with Him. That I don’t need to try to take over the leading when it gets scary- because He never loses control. That when I’m scared, I can just lean in closer- even close my eyes, but I don’t need to stop dancing with Him. Something beautiful can still come from the broken. Something beautiful always comes out of the dance.

So I wear a key around my neck that says “dance” to remind me it’s okay to not be in control. To remind me to trust the Lord. To remind me when the pain gets to be more than I can handle- it’s not too big for the Lord to take away. To remind me to breathe- and dance.

For me, dancing with the Lord while still in pain is an unspoken way of saying, “I trust you” even when I’m scared. It’s an unspoken promise to have faith even when I can’t see the next step. It’s a visual for me of what to do when I don’t have words- whether because of intense joy or sorrow: to hold tight to the Lord, let Him lead, and trust Him with each step. To dance.

My hope would be that no matter what the next step is with pain-I can always be found dancing with the Lord. That that’s what people see when they see me. That being chronically ill only means an opportunity to grow in my faith. That I can be found chronically dancing.