Balancing Act

I decided to take a ballet class this Fall.  The city offers adult classes through the parks and rec department, and I took almost nine years of dance as a child.  So, really, how hard could it be, right?  I was sure it would all come rushing back to me in a happy, caramel scented rush of warm, gooey memories.  Muscle memory would take over, and I would be gracefully pirouetting across the room in no time at all.  Please stop laughing at my optimism; it just isn’t polite.

So, the first night of class I motored over to the community center, bounced – literally bounced with excitement  – up the stairs and down the hall to the classroom.  Barres hung from mirrored walls, and blonde wood floors glistened with fresh wax.  The instructor was tiny, dressed in flowing skirts, hair secured in a tight chignon.   It was exactly how I pictured.  It was perfect.

Things  started well.  Pliés I could handle no problem.  Battements, no sweat.  It went along in this manner for about 45 minutes.  I thought I was in the clear, patted myself on the back.  Then came something for which I wasn’t prepared, something about which I had not thought: chainés – the dreaded repeated turns across the room on your toes, or at least I would have dreaded them had I thought to think about them. 

Now, here’s my challenge: I have a balance issue.  I have chronic migraine, and in my case it makes any activity that requires balancing while moving at other than a normal walking pace – well, a more difficult task to master.  Ballet is not the first time I have encountered this particular Goliath.  No, it has previously reared its hideous head in biking (That did not end well for me.) and running.  If you doubt me please see the scars on my knees and chin.  Yep, I’ve got the marks to prove that I survived the encounters.

Have I let Goliath whip me?  No, never!  Well, maybe when it came to biking.  There are only so many times you can fall and suffer multiple bloody injuries before common sense wins out, know what I’m saying?  But as far as running goes, I refuse to give in.  So what if I fall on the trail?  Who doesn’t occasionally get a skinned knee or gouged palm?  So what if my doctor thinks I need a helmet while running?  I am not giving into this proverbial thorn in my side!  Everyone has challenges.

As I was standing (read that as cowering) against the wall in ballet class trying to regain my balance after a nauseating attempt at chainés, I was sort of proud I’d made the attempt.  The room was reeling, but I had tried.  Wasn’t sure I would try again, because, after all, falling wasn’t the point, trying was.  As the room stopped spinning, my mind started – with possibilities.  In the New Testament, Paul is thankful for his thorn, but how grateful am I for mine?

Now, I can verbalize all the “right” reasons I should feel gratitude for my particular burden: it keeps me humble, it keeps me reliant on God, etc.  But that’s head knowledge.  Do these reasons reach my heart?  I think the answer is: “Sometimes.”  But I know there are times when I would eagerly rip out this thorn and hand it back to God.  I’ll go a step further and say there are times I downright bypass ungrateful and head right into angry and self-pitying.

It’s difficult to be grateful when your head feels like it’s being hit with a sledgehammer again and again and again for hours on end, day after day, but that’s when I should be the most receptive to God’s love.  And He wants to meet me exactly at that point when I am angry at the pain, when I am exhausted from the pain, when I am terrified by the pain.  So, maybe it’s not being grateful for the pain but instead being grateful for the opportunity to meet the Father, to be loved by Him.  Maybe without the pain, I wouldn’t seek Him or remember consistently that I needed Him.   Maybe without the pain my pride would edge out my heart for the Father.  So, viewing it from that perspective, Halleluiah for my chronic migraine!

Next week I will go to ballet class and bounce up the stairs and down the hall.  I will pull on my pink (love it!) ballet shoes and stand at the barre.  I will plié and do battements.  And when the instructor asks us to do chainés, I will breathe a prayer of thanks at this chance to meet the Father, and then try again.