Which Dance Will I Choose?

The text came this morning explaining why and how I disappointed him. I texted back a compassionate response saying I understood his disappointment and acknowledged my part. But the first text was only the first round meant to lull me into thinking it wasn’t so bad. The text and email that followed contained hurtful and angry words designed to draw me into our typical word dance.

So I sit here pondering, what is the best way to respond? What should I do? What can I do to right this rift? Should I respond with kindness? Or maybe this time I should reply with the brutal truth? Maybe I shouldn’t respond at all. After all, what good would it do? So I freeze -- unsure of what should be my next step because it feels that I’m in a no-win situation.

This is a dance that has been going on for a long time. Conflict ensues, and I begin the process of figuring out the choreography that will make things right. I’m weary and want to step off the dance floor.

Today, I chose not to respond. I decided to sit this dance out. Yet, my mind wonders which dance steps I will eventually need to do in order to create peace and harmony. But as I am talking with God and considering what will come next, a new thought comes. Instead of “doing” the next thing, God was inviting me to grieve.

There is much to grieve. The list is long and God knows my list better than I know my list. Yet to sit in grief is to acknowledge the reality and the depth of loss. Dancing our typical routine keeps me in the magical thinking that I have the power to make it right and that it is up to me to sooth the beast of conflict and chaos.

Grief is a powerful force that feels as though it will never release us. It drags us down to the pit of despair that feels unbearable. Willingly going to grief is hard. Doing, fixing, striving are all part of the dance that keep me from entering grief. It is a well fashioned strategy to keep my soul from the pain of grief.

But as I think about God’s invitation to grief, I wonder if he is inviting me to a different dance. The dance that I am used to feels like a chaotic and angry tango where there is a constant push and pull designed to eventually pull the partner into a manipulated and resentful embrace. But the dance of grief feels more fluid and soulful. The picture in my mind is that of a contemporary dancer who uses her body, mind and soul with fluid beauty that is both soft and strong.

It’s been a week since I wrote all that is above. Again this morning, I’m in a place of choosing to dance. Which dance will I choose? The angry tango is vivid and loud in my mind. I want to tell everyone that I am in the tango again so that they can dance it with me. But can I choose for today to dance the soulful choreography of grief that God is inviting me to? Will I change the music?

Father, today, as my mind and body fight to keep the tango alive, please let me hear your invitation to dance differently. Please, Lord, as I enter the painful place of grief again, let me hold your hand and allow you to lead me in a place of your love and your peace.