I have two plaques in my lounge. One says:
Dancing is not what I do. It’s who I am.
The second reads:
Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…
It’s learning to dance in the rain.
In recent weeks these sayings have never been more true for me.
As many of you know, I travelled around the world for over three months earlier this year meeting many CDF people in a number of countries in South America, Britain, Ireland, Europe and Asia, teaching and performing dance and praying. I was also prompted to dance in prayer in many of the sacred spaces of historical Christianity, particularly in Israel and Italy. Often this dance was very inconspicuous, unless someone was really watching; sometimes it was very obvious.
Within weeks of my return home, I slipped over in the wet outside, fell sideways off the clogs I was wearing (very thick soles) and broke my left ankle (well did most of the things you can do: two bones, one chip and a dislocation!). Then, the week I was due to have the cast removed I arrived home (fortunately I could still drive an automatic car) and interrupted a burglary in our house. The burglars still got away with all our electronics gear, some jewellery, current passports, and a number of other things. So now I have no photos of my trip, unless I had emailed or put them up on Facebook earlier this year, and no original documents, as my laptop was stolen.
Yet, through all this, my experiences of God have still been through dance. No, I didn’t have any great revelations of God while I was immobile on my bed (although some people have amazing experiences in such a place), but I did develop choreographic ideas for not just one but three knee scooters (although I am adamant that no dancer in this work should have a broken limb!); similarly, I developed ideas for dance in a moonboot and on crutches. I also danced in worship in my head, and, as I gained more mobility, was able to dance using any movement I could physically manage. This final process still continues today: I have now danced twice in my own church and every day am adding dance steps that I can now manage, or at least manage using mostly my strong leg. Long ago I learned that God made me to dance. I learned that I sense God most acutely when I dance. I dance prophetically in ways that impact others and, I believe, the heavenlies. I gain personal insights and I sense God’s love, His smile and His sense of humour.
Does anyone else experience this? What other ways do people experience the presence of God? When still? When listening to music? When out in nature? With others of like mind?
I’d love to hear your thoughts.
— Debbie Bright