do you ever have it where you wake up in the middle of the night with a whole ton of creative energy and you don't know what to do with it? Or maybe you're lying awake for hours on end imagining and dreaming and hoping and longing about things that are so wonderfully possible that it keeps you up until you roll over and see that it's 2 am, and you have to be up in just a few short hours to start another day - where that dream, hope and longing doesn't exist.
story of my life.
and usually it's me laying awake composing the most thought provoking, inspiring piece of writing that I win nobel prizes for.
Well, I've never considered winning prizes for it, but let me tell you, they are usually pretty down right brilliant. and then I wake up the next day and by the time I get around to writing, the creative magnificence has passed away, and I'm left to revel in the "could've been but never will be."
so rather than laying awake any longer, I am going to try and get these thoughts out - despite the ridiculous hour of morning that it is and the fact that church starts in less than 8 of those hours. (thank goodness my roommate is away tonight or else I would not have even dared to slip out of my blankets.)
last night I watched a production that was put together by a couple of the dancers and one of the musicians here on base called the 'edison effect.' the moment the dancers came alive with movement a feeling raged in my chest that often surfaces for air when a particularly beautiful piece of creativity is about to unfold. That raging beast of a feeling is in fact no beast at all, but it is the memory of a beautiful, flowing, active, all-in-one-piece happy little girl.
And that girl was me.
Growing up I lived at the arena. Every Tuesday and Thursday nights and Saturday morning I had figure skating lessons, while the rest of Saturday and Friday nights were spent watching my brothers play hockey. There were even times when I would get stuck at their practices on Mondays and Wednesdays.
Being at the arena provided an area for much distraction - between the hope for blue slushies and the hockey boys to notice me I was constantly on guard. But besides the obvious girlish distractions, I had figure skating. And that was something that made me come alive.
Tonight I was out at a sporting goods store because I needed to buy boots, and once I found the pair that I had been looking for I wandered around the store, for no particular reason. I was having some "me" time and had nobody else's agenda to submit to, so I had the time. I walked around the store, and a pair of flashy white figure skates caught my eye. That feeling surfaced again and I couldn't help myself so I approached the skates and just touched them. In a rush the familiar life of my childhood came back to me. The smell of the change room, with the unfortunate odour of boys' hockey gear always lingering in the air; the colours - the red benches and grey walls - the rubber all over the floor so as to never hurt the blade of your skate. The feeling of slipping your feet into that polished white figure skate - I still remember my first pair of "real" skates, the good professional kind that I had to buy once I got my own coach (whose name was Claire). Lacing up those girlish boots with a blade for a soul was so familiar I never once had to think how it was done - it was second nature how tight I liked them, and the final tug up of the tights was something that was done to ensure no discomfort; I'd be in those babies moving and dancing for the next hour or so and to sense any sort of bulge between my toes or around my ankle would mean having to stop. Those were precious moments that could not be wasted. It was always the most refreshing experience to step onto that freshly zamboni'd ice. That anticipation as we watched the ice cleaning machine make it's final lap led to a tangible sense of excitement as we were all crowded onto the small mat of rubber leading from the changeroom onto the ice, and when we finally got to unlatch the door and step out onto the shining sheet of white it was like stepping into heaven itself. The sound the blades made as they slashed through the soft ice was one of the best feelings that could ever be experienced. The warmup was crossovers around the two lower circles - usually to the tune of "Mambo #5". You'd have to get in some little jumps and a spiral or two (at least one per leg despite the fact that everybody has their dominant) before stretching out at the benches. Then you'd start into practicing your routine until you had your training with your coach for the day, who would critique your practice, help you add new elements, and then leave you to it til the next lesson.
I'd spend long afternoons (when I had the courage to be outside) and almost every snowday sharing the pond with my brothers, making up dances around them as they played one on one pick up hockey - usually ending our time together hoping they would watch the next bit of creativity that I'd invented (to which they would scoff, take the 4 wheeler and go home, leaving me alone and half insulted because they didn't care to watch, but half grateful because now the whole pond was mine). I remember one time I made up a whole dance to "Thy Word" (remember that old song?) and I was so proud of myself. Inside the house I would repeatedly watch a figure skating version of "Beauty and the Beast" and constantly swish around the kitchen in slippery socks, making my mama watch me as I practiced to be the next Tara Lipinski.
That was bliss. Pure bliss.
And I threw it all away when I was 13. And for what? Because it wasn't cool. Why wasn't it cool? Because a boy said so.
Girls. Boys. Anybody who is reading this:
Don't ever throw away your dream because SOMEONE ELSE says it's dumb.
Don't. Don't do it. You'll likely lose that sense of joy for a long time, and by the time you realize what you've done, it'll be too late to bring it back for what it was.
I remember the day I had to decide whether I was giving up my happiness or not. A boy at school had been teasing me about it, and because I just wanted approval and love, I listened to him. I knew that if I listened to him I'd automatically be cooler and more attractive - this boy held a lot of sway. Later that night I recall entering the arena, with my dad, to sign up for another figure skating season - my second full year with my own coach and those darling new skates. My parents and I had had the discussion about whether or not I would continue because figure skating is really expensive - especially with a coach. But at age 13 there is no point continuing without a coach. At age 13 I had to decide my destiny. And we walked into the room and the pressure of not being cool and being a financial burden weighed so deeply inside of me, I told me dad I didn't want to skate anymore. And we left. I dropped my innocence on that floor and walked away.
Some days I still question if I will ever find it again.
I remember crying at some point that night - quite unaware that this would be the first of many tear filled nights that would lead to a hardening of my heart I didn't even know was possible.
This week God has brought to light some things that my heart needs to purge itself of - some places it is still very set in - before I can move forward with more of the freedom that He so generously offers to me. And the more I consider the things that I have wrestled with and how I got stuck in them, the more I see the correlation between quitting what I love, and opening up doors to a world that would hurt my heart and injure my soul, and quickly created a gap between the One I love and the person that I thought I wanted to be.
Don't ever throw away your dream because SOMEONE ELSE says it's dumb. Trust that whatever they think is dumb is something that makes you happy because someOne placed that inside of you for a reason. God knew what He was doing when He made you, and those things that make you JOY FILLED are there for a PURPOSE. DON'T let them go.
My life fell into an organized and masked chaos, despite the fact I thought it was all normal. Nobody know the destructive habits that I developed and how I learned to glean love and identity from the opposite sex. It was easy - you just flash him the right look or say just the right thing, and he would submit to whatever whim it was that you wanted fulfilled. You'd just put on the right outfit and walk just the right way, and he'd be prey under your pinky. Easy, peasy. I knew physically what I could do to really make him crumble - yet, looking back I see, by the grace of God and by the grace of God alone, I never made any such move. In fact, in those moments when I considered gently brushing up against him or touching the small of his neck or just flat out grabbing his hand - I would get terrified. My insides would squirm and my hands would start to sweat. I wouldn't do it. Ever. Never have I ever. There was something about actually following through with any sort of physical act that felt so unnatural that I would simply never do it - despite the fact that it so naturally crossed my train of thought to do ever so often.
All by the grace of the Lord - let me tell you. He redeems even our darkest thoughts and actions - or inactions.
I learned young how to manipulate and gain that control - but seemingly never to my true advantage. It was likely the lack of physical action that prevented me from ever actually dating after I quit skating. Or the straight up grace of God. Probably more of the latter. Nonetheless, the lack of prolonged attention fed my insecurities, and I in turn made more choices that led to more heartbreak on more occasions that are useless in attempting to account for. Sure - the batted blue eyes and witty remarks allowed my ego to puff up for a time, but it was the quiet moments when everyone was left to their someone and I was left quite alone that really hurt the most. The pain of not knowing love or joy or happiness led to a deep sense of loneliness that I carried with me like an old blanket that couldn't be surrendered past infanthood. It was constantly getting thrown in the dirt, muck and mud only to be lifted back out and brought along into life with me.
Finally I experienced some freedom when I allowed that rag to fall away and let God cleanse me from all the choices I had made, and He allowed me to see just how much He had actually saved me from. And why? Because He loved me.
That was why? Really? It's that simple?
Well, yes, it's that simple.
He. Loved. Me.
There I was, stuck in a lonely pit of despair while the Lord kept holding His hand out for me to take hold, all the while I thought I could dig my out on my own.
Silly girl.
He loved me.
He loved me. And all the while I'd just been looking for love in all the wrong places.
I was looking for love with eyes that were out to steal, kill and destroy - not with eyes that would see the healthy ground where a garden could actually be planted.
Then He showed me. He led me away to a secret place planned just for me. He showed me what it was to be loved so deeply - He convinced there was no other way, and breathed His last so I could breathe my first. Then His Father breathed life back into Him, and we walked away together rejoicing - both white as snow and full of joy.
He taught me how to love again. He showed me the little things that could bring life and peace in a world full of death and busy-ness.
the gentle whisper of the wind. the bubble of the stream. the warmth of the sun on my skin. the sunshine, streams, rodeos, laughter, sunsets, sunrises, lakes - all natural beauty.
hearing people's stories, sunday afternoon football, playing games, knowing how much Jesus loves me, praying for people, hanging out with my youth kids, Bon Echo, music by needtobreathe, quiet times with Jesus, evening bike rides, sand in my toes.
good hugs, good books, long conversation...
It is here that I know to whom I belong, and the beauty of who He created me to be. It is here that I believe.
This is bliss now. Pure bliss.
Do I ever long for that innocent girl back? Yes. I would be lying if I said I didn't. I still long to lace up those old whites (that no longer fit) and brace myself for the old familiar softness of a freshly cleaned sheet of ice. To have a blank canvas ready for me to give life to is something I can only dream of doing. I don't even know if I could do any of my old moves anymore. I know for sure I couldn't accomplish anything close to a spiral. With some help I might manage to "shoot the duck". Guess I will just have to wait til heaven and God can even be my pair - then it'll be a real experience on ice (and you're gunna wanna catch that show!)
But do I regret the rest of my life? Not at all. God has moved in ways that are immeasurable and He is the one who has redeemed and continues to redeem. I am evermore finding pieces of the girl I turned into that need to be cut way and ripped apart - which is no pleasant process. But I thank my Maker that He has done this, and that He is doing this. That He is tirelessly working on my heart, mind, soul and body to bring restoration and life to areas that were once dead. He is so beyond good. Words will never be enough to explain just HOW good He is, and I pray you are also ever coming into this truth.
But until then - don't give up your God given, righteous and wonderful bliss. Don't give it up. Don't let it go. In fact, seek it out all the more. Chase it down. Follow the sweet scent of his grace and see where it leads. Breathe it in deeply and open your eyes wide to see it more clearly.
Don't ever throw away your dream, friend. Don't throw it away.
erika
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