I was crying on the shoulder of a friend recently - the kind of friend who lets you enumerate your entire list of grievances but then makes sure you know all the responsibility to change belongs to you. And so with her it is safe to tell of the recent strain between The Man and I. Nothing monumental, just all the little things lately - us both under the pressures of moving and babies and parenting struggles - that added up to the blanket statement, "I just feel like he has let me down."
As soon as the words were past my lips, I was instantly transported back in time to the competition a few weeks ago at the ballroom. The junior dancers had no more than 120 seconds to impress the judges with their routines of precise footwork, elaborate twirls, and daring aerials. Each couple combined skill and risk to present a jaw-dropping performance.
One particular display of Latin and high steps and red skirt included a maneuver where the male lead twirled his beautifully clad partner over his shoulder, down behind him, and through his legs where he reached down to deftly catch the back of her head firmly in his hand just before she threatened to strike the floor just inches away. In the noise of the ensuing applause, the spectator behind me, with the baby the same age as our twins and with the privilege of being the aunt of the lovely red sparkling performer, leaned forward and confided, "When I came to see them practice one day, he dropped her!" I winced as we cheered, but I really wasn't surprised. Hadn't they all been dropped at least once? My boys, their first time at choreographed routines, had more than once stepped too slowly, released too quickly, timed too imperfectly and let their partners tumble to the ground. Each young man had at some time, most assuredly "let his partner down" - probably more than once! And each young lady had been given a choice at that time: whether to go find a new partner, refuse to perform any more daring moves, or to get up and let him try again. To trust him one more time - and to trust him fully, despite the past. Not one performance that evening could have been properly or beautifully executed if the one being twirled, spun, and lifted had stiffened in self-preotection or kept herself braced for a fall. But each couple performing displayed the result of hard work and trust and brought great joy to all who witnessed them.
I had long ago declared that ballroom dancing was the perfect picture for marriage. He must lead. She must follow, often without being able to see where she is led. But his other job is to make her look beautiful. She is the feature; she is not the floor under his feet. And in the memory of the ballroom, I found another lesson. Though this Man may have misstepped and I may have found myself uncomfortable on the floor for the moment, my choice is before me. I can walk away and refuse to risk more pain; I can get up and hold him at arm's length, doing my best to ensure my own safety; or I can take his hand of assistance and apology and place myself again close to his side and wait to see the dazzling outcome of my trust in him and his trust in the Great Choreographer as we step in time to the music of life.
As soon as the words were past my lips, I was instantly transported back in time to the competition a few weeks ago at the ballroom. The junior dancers had no more than 120 seconds to impress the judges with their routines of precise footwork, elaborate twirls, and daring aerials. Each couple combined skill and risk to present a jaw-dropping performance.
One particular display of Latin and high steps and red skirt included a maneuver where the male lead twirled his beautifully clad partner over his shoulder, down behind him, and through his legs where he reached down to deftly catch the back of her head firmly in his hand just before she threatened to strike the floor just inches away. In the noise of the ensuing applause, the spectator behind me, with the baby the same age as our twins and with the privilege of being the aunt of the lovely red sparkling performer, leaned forward and confided, "When I came to see them practice one day, he dropped her!" I winced as we cheered, but I really wasn't surprised. Hadn't they all been dropped at least once? My boys, their first time at choreographed routines, had more than once stepped too slowly, released too quickly, timed too imperfectly and let their partners tumble to the ground. Each young man had at some time, most assuredly "let his partner down" - probably more than once! And each young lady had been given a choice at that time: whether to go find a new partner, refuse to perform any more daring moves, or to get up and let him try again. To trust him one more time - and to trust him fully, despite the past. Not one performance that evening could have been properly or beautifully executed if the one being twirled, spun, and lifted had stiffened in self-preotection or kept herself braced for a fall. But each couple performing displayed the result of hard work and trust and brought great joy to all who witnessed them.
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