Shall We Dance?

"You turned my mourning into dancing, you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy."( Psalm 30:11)

Another day of swirling mists and soft persistent rain. Only the closest trees are visible, waving ghostly branches at the grey skies. We hauled out an old leather suitcase, snapped open its latches and within a few minutes my two tough mountain toddlers were transformed into glittery, jingly butterflies. I buried my nose in the fabrics and relived the elation of my shimmy-swaying dancing days. Aah, what fun we had,  twirling like little girls, veils flying high and our spirits even higher. I jumped up, rummaged for some desert vibes and off we were, Tigger, Tinkerbell and Poo, bumping shins and (almost) bringing the house down. Less graceful, I admit, but just as much fun. To each one of you, beautiful friends and hip-swaying woman, thank you! from my heart. We taught each other to fly, sometimes through pain, but all along discovering the wonder of being women, "non regrette rien".

I do tend to romanticise the past, but those were sweet times. All along, they have always been there, soul-sisters, kinswoman, doulas, midwifes. We are bound together by silken threads, at times stretched taught by circumstance or distance, but always there. I realised this morning that even if we no longer dance hip to hip, the rhythm continues.

When I first became aware of the new life that I carried under my heart it was at once wondrous and terrifying. Thoughts of nausea, untimely cravings, backache and the like spun through my head. A hormonal roller-coaster ride lay ahead for me, I thought. Why I was blessed with a near-perfect pregnancy, I'll never know. I could think of many more deserving candidates. I felt serene, alive and totally in awe of how wondrously we are created. Psalm 139:14 says: I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; a phrase of scripture I say aloud to myself on days when the mirror does not. I treasured each day of flutterings across my belly, from the first sense of quickening to the goal-kicking thuds against my ribs. Even when I grew large, we never stopped dancing. Belly-dancing took on a whole new meaning and the little one loved it. (He still does).

With these dancing sisters I celebrated a rite of passage into motherhood. I was lead down a leafy path guarded by tiny flames. At the end of it was the place where we danced. A candle was passed from mother to mother and each one of them shared advice or a blessing. I soaked it all up, feeling truly connected. Somehow "knowing" each woman who ever felt strong and weak with love for the gift growing in her womb. I found something that I wrote a few days after giving birth to Luke. "The most profound experience of my life. The pain and passion of giving birth has given my own life new meaning and purpose".

So another week of grey sleety days draws to a close. My patience has been worn paper thin at times, but we're still dancing. We began before words and we will end beyond them.  We were given so many ways of expression, dance just being one of them. Why does it feel so good to lift your arms up to the heavens, palms outstretched and eyes closed? We were made to worship Him, our Creator of heaven and earth. He who's silence is the most eloquent of all. The Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express (Romans 8:26) The comfort of knowing that in desperation, when we do not even know what to pray for, He does it for us. Not with words, with groans. And when your heart is filled with awe and gratitude that words cannot express; dance before Him. Sway and twirl with infinite bliss - no-one is watching but our God; and He's loving it!