To look at me, you wouldn’t see anything earth shattering, you wouldn’t notice anything awe-inspiring. Most days you won’t even see make-up.

What you will see is a normal looking woman. Brown hair that’s usually up, brown eyes that are more expressive than I would like at times, some acne, some acne scars and a pair of old eyeglasses that I thought looked nice when I bought them but over time I have realized the frames are too skinny and when they slide down my nose I pick my nose up and crane my neck to see for a few minutes until I realize that I look like Mr. Magoo and it frustrates me to no end…. Normal, twenty five year old, wife, working mother of two features.

What you will not see, what I haven’t shared with many people is the struggles I’ve survived, the history I’ve made (cause we all make our own), the scars I’ve accumulated, and the lessons I’ve learned.

My life has been a series of beautifully orchestrated disasters. The music plays and I dance…and I stumble…and I fall. Sometimes I hide behind the curtain hoping no one noticed my failure. Sometimes I sit and cry…ugly cry but yet, the music plays. I listen, catch my breath and gather my courage. Eventually I get up and I jump back in, not always excitedly. I’m getting better at catching the rhythm. My feet land with more certainty now. There are less missteps. I have learned to wait for my cues and follow the path I believe that God has laid out for me.

There have been moments for me that the melody changed in an instant, throwing me off. Six years ago I was joined by my husband. Have you ever seen two dancers slam face first into one another? That was us. No it wasn’t graceful and yes we fought over hurt feelings, scraped knees and stepped on toes. That wasn’t the end of our miscommunication either. Many days have been spent learning each other, begging for relief and praying for guidance. Through it all though, we have held tightly to one another. We may not dance well, and we may look less than great while we do but, we do it together.

Not too long after that, our two littles joined us. First her, then him. She was beautiful, perfect. She snuggled between her father and I as we whisked her through all the trouble that our early years (the first 4) brought us. Eventually, she grew restless of watching and off she went to begin practicing for her turn. At first it was at our feet, then across the room and now, we can hardly keep her in sight. It’s wonderfully painful experience.

He still sits at our feet, watching and playing. Sometimes he gets up and chases after his sister with us but, he tires out quickly. For now he’s content to stay close. And so as a family we dance, we laugh, we fall, we cry and we grow.

It is my hope that my words will encourage you to get back on your feet and dance. It may not be graceful, it will probably be painful but it is worth it. So worth it. God said and oil of gladness where there is mourning, beauty for ashes and a garment of praise for your faint spirit. He wants you to smile and dance. He wants you to sing. He is the best dance instructor, his hands are gentle and words kind. In a flurry of ember and ash he rebirths those broken dreams. He sets a fire in your belly. You will begin to dance again. Slowly, but that’s ok, He just wants to watch you anyway. A proud father at his first recital. He smiles at the trips and stumbles. He calls your name to remind you where you were when you forget. He truly loves to watch you dance. It truly is beautiful.

Praying for your best performance yet,




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