Mourning into Dancing
Last week, I wrote of needing comfort in all my wrecked places.
This week, I can say, He has turned my mourning into dancing…literally!
Friday, I had a regular checkup at my primary care provider, and in the name of full disclosure, had to check the boxes on the form that confessed that I was depressed. This led to another form with more questions, which led to lots of crying behind my mask (the real one, not the metaphorical one) and lots of nose-blowing. The general agreement was that I understood what was contributing to it, where it was coming from and that no medical interventions were necessary. I felt cared for, but there was still no song in my brain — my clearest indicator that I am depressed.
Saturday was my dear Hub’s employer’s very classy Christmas party, put on as a gift for employees and their “significant others:” country club setting, linen tablecloths, hors d’oeuvres, prime rib, awards and dancing.
Truth be told, I didn’t even want to go this year. With all the sadness, I just wasn’t feeling it. I didn’t even put on any makeup (which I normally do for a party like this). The (never-has-a-fashion-opinion) Hub coached me as I was dressing: “This one looks a little more festive.”
I did look forward to chatting with the few people I remember from previous years, but also needed to spare my voice (still recovering from the effects of a virus) for leading worship the next morning. I went in pretty subdued, but almost immediately became energized as I focused on renewing previous acquaintances and making some new ones.
Now, I love to dance. I have no training and little coordination, but I’ve got pretty good rhythm, and enjoy the responsive movement. Dinner and awards over, the DJ cranked up the music. Almost involuntarily, my limbs began to respond to the beat.
“Go dance.” Our lovely table-mate gestured me toward the dance floor.
“Go dance, Child,” the Voice in my heart repeated.
No one else was on the floor. I was alone. Focused only on getting my limbs to respond in the ways I intended, I stepped, slid, tapped, turned, whirled. I felt pleasure…God’s pleasure and mine, and joy being released into me as I let Him lead the dance.
On the way home, I became aware that my depression had lifted. There is still sadness for the things that call for sadness, but it no longer dominates my thinking. There is a song in my head again. He has turned my mourning into dancing.
Following Jesus every day in the everyday,
Christi
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