Learning to Dance in the Rain

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.

AWARe Dec15 blogWithin 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.

AWARe Dec15 blog2Yet, 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

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3 thoughts on “Learning to Dance in the Rain

  1. Rebecca Chadd says:

    I, too, sense the presence of God most intimately when I’m dancing before Him. Somehow, the movement itself removes all masks, and only my honest thoughts, prayers, and desires are laid bare before him. I love how there is no hiding when we move–it is all intricately seen and understood. I love that God fully understands each movement and expression, even when we don’t. I pray you get fully healing and mobility in your ankle! Thanks for sharing! I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to find this network…Time to be more proactive about my passion! Blessings in the New Year

  2. Rebekah Dyer says:

    Movement helps me whenever I need to get into a different frame of mind — whether that’s going for a walk to think things through, or moving more expressively to go beyond my thoughts. I use words a lot, especially for my work in theology, but moving often helps me go deeper than words. I find movement very releasing, spiritually as well as physically.

    Nature often reminds me of the mysteries of God’s presence, especially when I’m around something a little bit wild, like fire or water. Fire seems suffused with the Spirit’s intimacy and unpredictability, the dance of Christ’s light in the dark. It’s difficult not to see things in a bigger perspective when you’re watching waves going out to the horizon, or hearing the roar of an unstoppable rushing river. (And, lately, I’ve found it hard not to feel immersed in divine reassurance when surrendering my aches and pains to a nice hot bath!)

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